Star Traks: Halfway to Haven - Season 1
by Capt. Silverado
Summary: A spin-off of Star Traks: Silverado, Halfway to Haven chronicles the adventures of Captain Elizabeth Simplot and the crew of Starbase 341 as they boldly...welll...sit there. At least that was the plan. But with half her crew stranded far from home aboard the experimental USS Roadrunner, anything from evil fungus aliens to blobs of goo who tell terrible jokes can and will happen!
1. 1 - City Limits

Star Traks: Halfway to Haven 1.1 – "City Limits"

* * *

Author's Prologue

It's my hope that new Traks readers would be able to sit down and enjoy this new series without having to read through the other several hundred stories out there. However, for those of you who are planning on reading Star Traks: Silverado anyway, I suggest you work through that series first as the remainder of this intro has some pretty major spoilers for Silverado Season 5.

That being said, here's a quick run-down of stuff that's good to know.

Two or three years prior to this story, Starfleet encountered a people called the Matrians. A society where women dominated, the Matrians were in the process of trying to take over their part of the galaxy through the use of mind control and virtual reality. Once their plans were thwarted and the mind-control system used by their leader destroyed, the Matrian people formed a new, peaceful Republic. Starfleet learned that in the past, the Matrians had suffered a terrible, century-long Gender War that had crippled their civilization and that the mind-control technology had been developed to end that war. With the war over but their society in ruins, the Matrian women had gone into suspended hibernation, into a virtual world and had plotted galactic conquest while the men were forced to rebuild their planet. With that technology destroyed and their goal of galactic domination ended, it was time for the Matrian Republic to finally start moving forward again in the galaxy.

After a few years, the Matrians joined the Federation and were promptly invaded by a hostile race called the Qu'Eh. A single Starfleet ship, the USS Silverado, was all but destroyed in the attack, leaving the Silverado crew and most of Matria Prime's leadership in a mysterious, underground Old Matrian installation nicknamed 'Haven'. As they fought the Qu'Eh, the Starfleet/Matrian team learned that Haven was a powerful city-style space station. They launched Haven, repelled the Qu'Eh and hoped that it was time for business as usual.

But who's going to run the place?

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Now, on with the show…

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Admiral Wittica Verithi, commander of the Matrian Defence Force, sat next to Queen Ansela and King Hektor of the Matrian Republic. A new Federation member, the Matrian Republic was still getting used to the little quirks of dealing with the Federation. Their representative to the council, Councillor Krisi, had been welcomed with all the appropriate ceremony and voted the Matrian Republic's will in the Federation Council. Starfleet, on the other hand, was proving to be much more difficult to deal with.

Case in point, the two leaders of the Republic and the commander of their defence force had been staring at a 'hold' motif for twenty minutes. Their conference with Fleet Admiral Ra'al was supposed to start fifteen minutes ago.

"This is completely intolerable!" Queen Anselia fumed, "A complete violation of decorum, etiquette and protocol! We didn't spend two months running a rebellion to free this planet only to be ignored by a lowly Admiral!" She glanced over at Verithi. "No offense meant, of course,"

"Of course," Verithi replied dryly. She chose not to bring up the fact that most of the actual rebelling, against an enemy that had invaded their world prior to the arrival of a Federation relief fleet, had been done by Starfleet officers and regular Matrian civilians.

Before any further ranting could continue the screen flickered, displaying the stern visage of Fleet Admiral Ra'al, one of the highest of the higher-ups in the Starfleet chain of command.

"Apologies," she said, "I had an unexpected meeting about one of THOSE ships that ran over," Ra'al started briskly.

"'Those' ships?" King Hektor repeated.

Ra'al looked annoyed with herself for even mentioning it.

"Let's just say that not all starship crews are created equally," Ra'al replied. "Now, as I'm already behind on my calendar for today I'd like to resolve your issue quickly so I may move on,"

"This issue should have been resolved weeks ago!" Verethi said angrily, her professional façade showing the first of many cracks, "We've been waiting for this appointment since-"

"If you're in such a hurry, let's cut to the point," Ra'al said calmly, folding her hands on her desk, "You need a Starfleet commander, along with several senior staff members, for your shiny new space station,"

"Orbital city," Anselia corrected frostily.

"Orbital space station city," Ra'al waved one hand, "And, in fact, Starfleet offered to fill the position. Now, for reasons I don't fully understand but that seem to include the sudden decision by the Matrian government to refit a damaged starship that Starfleet had deemed unsalvageable, that officer is not available. You see where I'm going with this?"

"No," Verithi said flatly.

"She is trying to blame the situation on us," Anselia seethed.

"Yes, 'she' is," Ra'al said, "Now, we are willing to find a replacement commander for you, however a suitable candidate will take time to locate,"

"There are five Federation starships still in Matrian space!" Verithi exclaimed, "Surely one of them-"

"Do you," Ra'al's voice turned almost silky, "Really want an officer from one of those ships?"

Verithi, Hektor and Anselia exchanged a glance.

"YES!"

"Very well," Ra'al shrugged, "You'll have your new station commander by the end of the day."

"We...well," Anselia stuttered, "Thank you,"

"Don't thank me yet," Ra'al said ominously, "Starfleet out,"

As her image vanished, the three leaders looked around in surprise.

"That was easy," King Hektor said.

"That WAS easy," Queen Anseila agreed. They both stood and started walking back to the council offices.

"Too easy," Verithi mumbled as she followed behind.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

In her comfortable office in Starfleet HQ, Admiral Ra'al sighed and leaned back. Next to her, out of range of the video pickup, Admiral Baxter pulled his cigar out of his mouth.

"You're taking a risk here," he said.

"I tried doing this nicely," Ra'al shrugged, "A proper station commander would have been just the thing to bring the Matrians into the fold and to repair the damage done by…by that OTHER ship." She tapped at her intercom. "Annie, get me the USS Montreal, Matrian space,"

"If you do what I think you're about to do," Baxter said, "We're going to end up with another one of THOSE crews,"

"They'll be sitting in the middle of unexplored space in a space station the size of a city. What's the worst that could happen?"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Captain Elizabeth Simplot was buried in her work. Literally.

"Josh," she exclaimed loudly, "GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

"I-I-I'm trying!" replied her companion, Lt. Commander Josh Shurgroe as he tugged at a piece of bulkhead paneling, "The whole mess is wedged in there pretty tight!"

"I know, I'm wedged in here with it!" Simplot replied. A petite woman in her very early thirties, her (currently) dark hair was a frizzy tangle. Of course, nobody could really see it since she was trapped in one of the Jefferies tubes that snaked through the bowels of the USS Montreal.

"How did you manage that, an-an-anyway?" Shurgroe asked. The bulkhead chunk wouldn't budge. Maybe if he could pull out that chunk of conduit first…

"The idiot captain of this ship assigned me to damage control," Simplot fumed, "Me! A Captain with three years experience! And he tucks me down out of the way, like I'm good for nothing!"

"But how-"

"And that's AFTER we sacrificed our ship to save the day," Simplot finished. Her former command, the USS Stallion, had been destroyed less than a month ago during the battle to free the Matrian Republic.

Shurgoe was quiet for a moment, until he was sure she was done ranting.

"But how did you end up trapped under all this stuff?" he asked.

"I was trying to change a lighting unit," Simplot admitted.

Shurgroe survived the pile of struts, bulkhead segments, conduits, cables and miscellaneous brackets that had his former commander pinned to the floor.

"A lighting unit?"

"Yeah," the rubble moved as Simplot managed to push a translucent lighting cover off of her face, "Who knew that you're supposed to take out the screws in a certain order?"

"Captain Simplot? Josh? Are you two in there?" It was the voice of Dr. Janet Annerson, the Stallion's former Chief Medical Officer. A Durentian woman in the equivalent of later-middle age, Annerson had been one of the few voices of reason aboard the ill-fated Stallion.

"In here, Janet," Josh called. Annerson poked her head into the tube, then pulled it back out with a snort of disgust.

"Josh, come out here so I can have a conversation with your face instead of your backside!" the slightly greenish woman said.

"Oh, o-o-oops," clumsily, Shurgroe climbed out of the tube.

"WHAT ABOUT ME!" Simplot called from under her debris pile.

"What about you?" Shurgroe wondered absently, "Oh, right. She's, um, a bit stuck,"

"Too stuck to come out and get your new assignment?" Annerson asked.

There was a flurry of crashes and clunks. In less than half a minute, Simplot was climbing out of the Jefferies tube, bits of insulation still stuck to her hair.

"I t-t-thought you were faking," Shurgoe said mildly.

"We've been stuck on this ship for weeks with nothing to do but menial tasks like changing high-tech light bulbs," Simplot tossed her hair, "I was bored. Now give me that!" she snatched the padd from Annerson. As she read it, her eyebrows rose.

"Well?" Shurgroe demanded, "Are they splitting us up? Cuz, y'know, I'd kinda miss Tereneth…"

"I dunno about hier," Simplot said, starting to grin, "But you are now looking at the new Station Commander, Chief Medical Officer and Director of the Department of Shipbuilding for Starbase 341: Haven!"

"Shipbuilding!" Josh's eyes widened, "You mean, I get to make people build new ships? And do the inspections? So, like, if everything isn't perfect and somebody gets…gets hurt, it's going to b-b-be a-a-all m-m-my f-f-f-f-fault?" The half-human, half-Centaurian was now positively quivering in fear.

"Oh, suck it up you big baby," Annerson smacked him, "That's what your staff is for!"

"This is so exciting!" Simplot said, "Quick, call the shuttlebay! I want to start looking at apartments!"

"Anybody else wondering if maybe there's a catch to this great new assignment?" Annerson wondered suddenly.

But Simplot was already halfway down the corridor, her voice fading rapidly.

"I SO hope we get a Dillon's Furniture Bazaar out here soon!"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Starbase 45: 100 Light-Years Away…

Personal Log, Lieutenant Rex Boxer, Starfleet Intelligence:

"Ohhh, this is so exciting! I've just arrived at Starbase 45 to meet my new partner! Oh, I bet he'll be smart, and good at sports, and all that fun stuff! I guess it would have been nice if Intelligence had actually told me who my new partner was going to be. Or where we were going to be going. But hey, I can't have everything my way, can I?"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Lieutenant Boxer walked happily down the starbase corridors with a cheery bounce in his step and a wag in his tail. Scratching absently behind one of his furry ears, the Sheppian officer briefly consulted a computerized map of the station. The computer had already informed him that his new partner, Lieutenant Laarthi, was in the arboretum. Ohhh! And the arboretum had a duck pond! Maybe they'd have time to play with the ducks before they left for the next stop on their way to their new posting! His nose suddenly twitched. Somebody interesting was coming! Another Sheppian, definitely. There was no mistaking it! The scent of one of his own kind was almost refreshing after dealing with the pole-cat stench of humans and other aliens present on the station. Sure enough, another furry, dog-like Sheppian rounded the corner directly ahead of Boxer, his ears perking up and his mouth pulling into a snarl. "Who are you?" Boxer demanded as he and the other Sheppian started circling each other. His voice was low, fairly clear but with a drawing out of the 'R' sounds that gave his words a growly accent.

"Ensign Drain," the other replied, "Who are YOU?"

"Lieutenant Boxer,"

They continued circling, but instead of snarling they now started sniffing more carefully at the air. A human Ensign walked by, barely able to contain her giggles at the sight of two fully-dressed alien dogs glaring at each other and sniffing. Finally, they stopped.

"OK then," Boxer said, scratching at one furry, cream-coloured arm, "What's up?"

"Captain Brown sent me down with your posting messages," Drain said, "And I'm supposed to help you…um…collect your partner."

"Help?" Boxer frowned, "Why does he think I need help?"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

In Starbase 45's cavernous Operations center, Captain Brown and the rest of his staff were watching the security monitors displaying Drain and Boxer as they stepped towards the arboretum.

"That poor Ensign," mused Dr. Chox, "Fresh out of Academy, brand new to the station and this is what you people do to him?"

"Usually," said Commander Kloon, "we make a chocolate cake and pour a brandy to welcome new officers to the team,"

"Except that Drain is allergic to chocolate," Captain Brown pointed out, "Besides…would anybody else volunteer to handle this situation?"

The room was oddly silent.

"Then enjoy the show," Brown nodded at the display screen.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Do you know anything about this Starbase 341 place?" Boxer was asking Drain as he looked at his padd, "And what or who is a DoRRIS?"

Drain shrugged.

"I'm just here to help you get your partner. I don't know anything about your assignment, except that you're supposed to depart with the USS Roadrunner in two hours."

"Roadrunner?" Boxer felt a snarl coming on. He didn't especially like Roadrunners. They moved around too quickly for him to keep track of what was going on. Besides, birds were more of a cat thing. Now Squirrel, there was an interesting name for a ship! "Never heard of it," he said.

"Nobody has," Drain told him, "It's part of some secret project. How you two are getting aboard is a mystery,"

Boxer said nothing. They were approaching the arboretum anyway, and his sensitive hearing could just barely here the sounds of…the sounds of…

The doors hissed open.

CAT!

Boxer was immediately on all fours, his lips curled back and his teeth exposed. Barking loudly, he bolted into the arboretum.

The room was pretty standard for a starbase botanical facility. It was at least three levels high with a blue & cloud painted ceiling. The deck had been covered in soil and sported a variety of grasses, shrubs, bushes, trees and so forth. A medium-sized duck pond was dug in next to a wrought-iron-style window that looked out into space. In the center of the arboretum towered a Bolian Oak tree, chained to which was a feline Caithan officer in a Starfleet uniform.

"I'M NOT GOING!" hissed the Caithan, a female, "I'M NOT LEAVING THE TREES! YOU'LL HAVE TO KILL ME FIRST!"

A tall Lt. Cmdr. with the mustard-yellow collar signifying an Operations speciality was trying to talk to her.

"Your assignment has gone through, Lt. Laarthi," he said in a crisp, British accent, "You will report to Starbase 341 where you will become a DoRRIS…my word, what is that? Surely no proper Federation establishment would choose such a foolish title. And really, what is that barking? Somebody needs to put their mutt on a-"

WHAM!

The man found himself knocked to the side as a blur of uniform-covered fur flew past and jumped over the decorative fence surrounding the Bolian Oak. There was a sizzle of sparks and a very surprised yelp as a forcefield flung him back. Boxer gave a few yips as he fell to the ground, his tail curling instinctively between his legs.

"Really, chap," the British sounding man, Lt. Cmdr Virjii, shook his head, "Don't you think we'd have her out of here by now if the chains were the only problem?"

Ensign Drain had just caught up as Boxer was pulling himself back to his feet.

"She's been chained up there all morning," he told the still-slightly-stunned Boxer, "As soon as she found out she was going to an alien space station,"

"THEY DON'T LOVE THE FOREST!" Laarthi shouted.

"We'll get to you in a moment," Virjii said sharply, "Now you, my good…chap, you really can't go running around barking and howling like a mad dog,"

Now both Boxer and Drain were starting to snarl.

"It's simply uncouth." He consulted his padd again. "Now, Lt. Boxer, simply calm yourself down and we'll see about collecting your new partner."

"I will NOT partner with a CAT!" Boxer said firmly.

"Orders are orders, and you WILL obey them!" Virjii said firmly. He dug into his pocket and fished out a doggy treat. "This should calm you down."

"I will not be patronized either!" Boxer snapped, "I'm not one of your dull-witted pets!"

"As you wish," Virjii shrugged, moving to pocket the treat.

Boxer involuntarily felt his tongue darting across his chops.

"Thought so," Virjii smiled, "Now, there's a good boy," he tossed the treat at Boxer, who snapped it out of the air. He started munching away, visibly calming immediately. Behind him, Drain was whimpering softly.

"Sorry my boy," Virjii shrugged, "only expected one of you,"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Lt. Laarthi was barely aware of the scene just outside the force-field she'd setup to prevent anybody from taking her away from HER garden. She'd been living on Starbase 45 for over two years now and every plant, every flower and every tree had felt her loving touch at one time or another. This was HER domain and so what if she and the botanical staff didn't always get along? She'd tried making peace with them, but they just hadn't appreciated the gifts she'd left outside their quarters. Therefore, they weren't important. And neither was this new assignment. She'd been to alien stations before; the Cardassian-built Deep Space Nine came immediately to mind. She'd hated that place: the dim light, the grey metal, the sterility. Vulcan Space Central, where she'd been posted shortly after finishing at the Academy, wasn't much better. The Vulcans at least understood the logical rationale behind bringing a little nature into space, but their gardens were far too functional and they therefore lacked that randomness that was inherent in nature.

Nope, there was simply no way she was going anywhere. Especially not to an alien space station, nearly a month away from the nearest Federation outpost. She could stay right here for hours, days if necessary! She would live off the acorns of the Bolian Oak, it's roots would absorb her waste, it's lush leaves would provide oxygen. She and the tree could live together in perfect symbiosis.

Wait, what was that hideous dog doing?

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Lt. Boxer was no longer in a good mood.

Clearly, there would be no playing with the ducks before leaving the station, his new partner being a hideous feline instead of the fellow Sheppian he was hoping for or the tolerable ape-creature he was expecting. But orders were orders, and he was duty-bound to obey.

So he and Virjii had put their heads together and come up with the most expedient way to coax Laarthi out of her hiding place. Fortunately, once Drain had insisted that their idea of a shiny bell tied to a stick wasn't going to work as well as they'd hoped, they'd formulated a backup plan. And after ten minutes of unsuccessfully waving the bell around, they'd put Plan-B into effect.

"Come down from that tree or the pretty flower gets it," Boxer said, pointing his phaser at a colourful blossom from Antares IV.

"You wouldn't DARE!" Laarthi shouted back, her attention suddenly riveted on him.

Boxer thumbed the trigger, vaporizing the flower into a mist of flowery air-freshener. Laarthi hissed, her heckles rising.

"Next, the orchids," Virjii said, gesturing to a meticulously-pruned group of flowers, "Then the petunias. And so on, in that fashion, until this place is a burnt pit,"

Laarthi hissed again.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Fifteen minutes later they were heading for one of Starbase 45's smaller docking bays, their luggage already delivered to the Roadrunner. Ensign Drain had left, claiming to have a bone to pick with somebody up in Station Operations. Virjii led the group with Boxer and Laarthi sticking to opposite sides of the corridor, each shooting angry glares at the other. Before long they'd entered a small departure lounge. Another officer was already seated at the grey Federation-standard table. Her black hair was cut just above her shoulders, saving her from the Starfleet Bun.

"This is Lieutenant Cindy Mytim, Starfleet Sciences. She'll be working with DoRK when we arrive at Starbase 341," Virjii explained, "Myself, I'll be Director of DoMO. Now, Lieutenant Mytim has promised to explain to us how we're going to arrive at our new assignment on time, considering that Matria Prime is a month from here and we're expected in three days?"

"DoRK?" Boxer looked oddly at Mytim.

"There is no need for name-calling!" Mytim said, "You don't know me! You can't judge me! I'm just as smart as anything else!"

"AnyBODY else?" Laarthi snorted. Well, she sort of snorted. With her Caithan features and feline grace, she somehow implied a snort without actually doing more than wrinkling her nose and giving a slight breath of derision.

Virjii was looking at them with a look of distaste.

"Have you not read your mission briefs?" he demanded. He rubbed his forehead with one hand, "I should have known this was going to be a bad day the minute I learned I had to pull a cat out of a tree,"

"Don't blame me," Mytim said, raising an eyebrow, "I never put cats in trees. I just say they're there so the handsome firemen will come," Laarthi did not appear to enjoy this comment.

"Our destination, Starbase 341, will be jointly operated by Starfleet and the Matrian Republic Defence Force," Virjii said, pulling his padd out again, "And as such will have a non-standard organizational structure. Lieutenant Mytim will be working with the Department of Research and Knowledge, which I take to be the equivalent of Sciences. Lieutenants Boxer and Laarthi will be with the...ah yes, here it is. The Department of Research Regulation and Information Security, by which I assume you will be liaisoning with Matrian Intelligence." He looked at them oddly, "Unusual assignment for a pair of Stellar Cartogophers, isn't it?"

Laarthi and Boxer exchanged another glance, this one more worried than angry.

"Not if they're the ones with all the Matrian starcharts," Laarthi said quickly.

"Hmm, quite," Virjii looked slightly suspicious, "In any event, I will be working with the Department of Maintenance Operations, which is evidently Maintenance & Operations."

He looked back down at his padd.

"Well then, on to our travel arrangements. Lt. Mytim?"

"Hmmmm?" Mytim looked up from where she was painting her nails. (She'd apparently grown bored with Virjii's little speech), "Oh, of course." She looked over at Laarthi and Boxer. "So why do they have a pair of Stellar Cartographers working with Matrian Intelligence?"

"We've already been through that!" Laarthi snapped.

"We have? Oh. OK." She went back to her nails.

"Lieutenant?" Virjii prompted. Mytim looked back up.

"Yes?"

"The Roadrunner?" he prompted between clenched teeth.

"I don't know a thing about it," she shrugged, "But it's supposed to get us there really fast. That's why it's called the Roadrunner and not the Crippled Sparrow,"

"This padd says very clearly that YOU are to explain to us why the Roadrunner is special!" Virjii said, waving the padd at her like it was a weapon, "And I insist that you do so!"

"I can't," Mytim said, "But can,"

"And who's Dr. Strobnik?" Virjii demanded.

"He's right there," Mytim said, pointing at a couch along one wall. Virjii glanced over, saw nothing and returned his attention to Mytim.

"Clearly," he said, "the fumes from that noxious polish are affecting your brain!"

"Have you considered an organic alternative?" Laarthi wondered, "There are some excellent dyes that can work," she turned to Boxer, "Although at least the fumes are masking that terrible dog odour!"

"We'll talk about odour after we start finding buried cat poop in the arboretum!" he shot back.

"HSSSSSS!"

"GRRRRRRR!"

"What is all that racket?"

There was a ripple from the couch as a dark skinned form abruptly came into existence. Three of the officers jumped to their feet, Boxer's hand going immediately for his phaser. Mytim didn't even look up from her nails.

"That's ," she said.

"Sorry all," the man said, "I dozed off while we were waiting for you." Strobnik was…well, they weren't sure what race he was. His dark flesh almost looked like chitin, though it might have just been very hard skin. His eyes were yellow and his neck was heavily armoured. In actuality he was a Plat'ik'nik, a race native to a hostile jungle planet. Their camouflage ability had helped them survive long enough to develop the technology needed to tame their world and the heavy neck contained not one, not three, but five separate nerve bundles connecting their unusually small primary brain with clusters of neural tissue scattered throughout their bodies. They weren't much smarter than the average humanoid, but they did possess a level of neural redundancy that was almost unmatched in the Federation. In any event, it was Dr. Strobnik who had developed the Roadrunner and who would now explain to several frustrated officers and probably more than a few frustrated readers what the whole deal was about.

"The Roadrunner," he began, "Is the result of several years of research into technology brought back by a ship called the USS Voyager. Has anybody heard of it? Show of hands, please,"

Exchanging puzzled glance, most of the officers raised their hands. Mytim was now carefully trimming a split end.

"Lt. Boxer?" Strobnik prompted.

"Voyager spent seven years stuck in the Delta Quadrant before hitching a ride back on a Borg ship," he said.

"Lacking in detail, but essentially correct," Strobnik said, "Now, Voyager had discovered an alien race with a propulsion technology called the Quantum Slipstream Drive. This technology allows a ship to create and traverse a hyper-dimensional tunnel through extremely deep layers of subspace. These quantum slipstreams would have allowed Voyager to return home in a matter of days."

"So why didn't they?" Boxer asked, "They must have messed something up. Rumour has it that ship messed up a lot,"

"Being stranded years from home isn't exactly easy," Virgii said.

"Not in this case," Strobnik went on, " the problem was that Slipstream Drive requires immediate real-time calculations to compensate for conditions found within the slipstream. Failure to do so results in the vessel being catapulted out of the slipstream, likely into the nearest planet, star or other large gravity well. Federation computers just aren't capable of that kind of real-time processing for anything larger than a runabout, or Voyager's fancy 'Delta Flyer' ship."

"Until now?" Laarthi ventured.

"No, not until now," Strobnik said, "I don't know, maybe they'll figure something out sooner or later. But strapping a QS drive onto a larger ship isn't my problem,"

"Then why are we talking about this?" Virjii crossed his arms.

Strobik tapped at a panel, bringing up a schematic of a large, dish-shaped object. Whatever it was, it was attached to an object that somewhat resembled a scaled-up communications relay.

"This is a Slipstream Stabilization device," he said, "It sends out a pulse of energy that will, temporarily, reduce irregularities in the slipsteam long enough for the Roadrunner to safely navigate it. The idea is that the Roadrunner will map out the slipstream and bring the data back for processing. Once a slipstream is scanned and mapped, we can use that data to allow Roadrunner-class ships to tow larger ships through the slipstream,"

There was silence around the table for a few moments.

"So, the Roadrunner is launching a new era is deep-space exploration?" Virjii asked.

"No," Mytim said, now apparently plucking her eyebrows in a pocket mirror, "Weren't you paying attention? The ship can only travel routes it's already traveled, unless it has one of those pulse-thingies to clear the way,"

Virjii shot an annoyed look at the woman, then turned back to Strobnik.

"This is true?" he asked.

"Well, essentially, yes. The Roadrunner will be a boon to Federation commerce, tourism and will bring Federation worlds within easier reach of each other than ever before!" he deflated slightly, "It's just quite useless for space exploration at the moment,"

"I see," Virjii looked thoughtful for a moment, "I quit. There is no way in the various hells you're getting me into one of those deathtraps! I have already spent several years aboard a ship stranded halfway across the galaxy, and it's not an experience I care to repeat!"

"You were on Voyager?" Laarthi asked, interested.

"Er...yes." Virgii's eyes darted from side to side, "Engineering. Good friends with Lt. Cmdr. Forbes,"

"I thought Voyager's Chief Engineer was Lt. Cmdr. Torres," Laarthi said.

"The point is, I'm not getting on this ship!"

"It's really very safe. No Federation citizen has ever died in a Quantum Slipstream accident," Strobnik said proudly.

"How many slipstream drives have been tested in the Federation?" Virjii countered.

"Well, we've run a lot of simulations," Strobnik replied, "And our success rate has been most impressive,"

"If you count the whole Voyager thing, then not so much," Mytim pointed out absently, "Ohhh, do we have any beauty masks? I just know those little baggies around my eyes are swelling up again!"

"But how many actual voyages has this thing made?" Virjii demanded, ignoring Mytim.

As the others argued, Laarthi caught Boxer's gaze, then gave a subtle nod in the direction of the next room. Boxer lifted one ear, then cocked his head in confusion. She nodded more emphatically, this time silently mouthing 'hanger'. Again, her hint didn't register. Finally she stood up, latched the claws of one hand onto the back of Boxer's uniform and pulled him towards the hanger.

"We need to have a moment alone," she hissed to the others. Nobody seemed to care as she led Boxer out, the Sheppian shrugging off her hand with a yip and the sound of tearing cloth.

In the hanger they found a single small starship berthed. About four decks high, the hull was shaped almost like a flattened-down Intrepid class ship; a stretched out saucer flowing into a rear engineering section shaped like a flattened cylinder. A pair of long, sleek nacelles jutted straight out from the sides, tucked neatly behind the edge of the saucer. What made the ship strange was the large ring attached to the nacelle pylons, circling the rear half of the engineering section.

"The USS Roadrunner, I presume," Laarthi mused, paying the prototype ship barely a glance. She immediately started prowling around the hanger, "We're looking for a 'Betazoid Boys' lunch box,"

"And you have instructions that it's in this hanger," Boxer said, suddenly understanding why Laarthi had been so eager to leave the meeting.

Laarthi said nothing, merely swishing her tail in annoyance.

Boxer licked his chops. This cat thought she could be better at hide-and-seek than him? He'd show her! He'd find that box before she had a chance to even shed one hair of that disgusting feline fur of hers! He dropped down to all fours, sensitive nose sniffing for clues.

"Found it," Laarthi announced smugly.

Boxer was not happy. Fighting against the instinct to curl his tail, he stood back up and joined her behind a cargo container. She opened the garishly decorated lunch box, revealing a holo-emitter. The emitter came to life, showing the image of an older Bolian.

"Special Agent Laarthi, Special Agent Boxer, your orders are as follows," he said, not pausing to identify himself, "As per your cover assignment, you will be proceeding to Starbase 341 in orbit of Matria Prime where officially you will work with Matrian Intelligence as Stellar Cartographers. Your actual assignment from Starfleet Intelligence is to probe the reliability of the Matrian Intelligence organization prior to their absorption into SI. You are being sent to Matrian Space aboard the Roadrunner due to reports that somebody has offered to sell the prototype ship to the Orion Syndicate. I don't have to tell you that the Orions must not get their hands on this technology. You are to locate and apprehend the seller with all haste. Close co-operation will be essential, so no fighting like cats and dogs!" The Bolian grinned, apparently pleased with his hyperbole. The hologram tilted his head, as though somebody was whispering in his ear."

"Uhh, oh," he said, the smile vanishing, "Sorry, just ignore that cat and dog comment. Really, I'm sorry. I didn't know. Please don't charge me with harassment or anything. This message will self-destruct in…now!"

With a small bang, the lunch-box burst apart, filling the hanger with the smell of smoke and singed fur.

"I wish they'd give us more warning," Boxer mused, patting out a smouldering patch on his arm. Laarthi glanced at her reflection in a panel, then gave a long-suffering sigh as she licked the back of one hand and tried to get the black carbon out of her fur.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Matrian Space

Captain Simplot sat comfortably in the front seat of the runabout Cataraqui, looking out at the gleaming blue marble of Matria Prime. Shurgroe was at the pilot station, just in the process of signing off with the USS Champlain's shuttlebay. The Cataraqui was the only Federation runabout being left at Starbase 341/Haven, with the expectation that the city's shipyards would be able to produce more before long. Dr. Annerson was seated in one of the rear seats, a pile of medical gear stacked next to her. She leaned against a box of hypospray cartridges as she read an old-fashioned book, the cover of which was adorned with a scantily clad warrior-prince holding an equally scantily-clad damsel in distress. Next to Simplot sat a carrying case full of padds.

"Aren't you going to look at those?" Shurgroe asked.

"What, the crew profiles?" Simplot shrugged, "Can't see why they have to be finished now. It'll be a month before our permanent crew gets here. And I don't have any files on the Matrian crewmembers yet." She looked over at Shurgroe. "Josh, aren't you going to at least look out the window? It's a gorgeous view!"

Shurgroe, piloting entirely by instrumentation, shook his head.

"N-no," he swallowed nervously, "I don't do too well with open spaces, you know that.

"Right, right. Why you decided to work in space is beyond me."

"My psychic said it would be a good idea," Shurgroe said, then fell quiet for a moment. "Have you see Commander Jeffery since the 'Farewell Stallion' party?" he asked.

"No, Josh, I have not, and I'll thank you not to bring it up," Simplot said frostily. Commander Jeffery had spent several weeks aboard the Stallion some time ago, just enough time for the somewhat…aggressive women of the ship to break down his barriers and turn him into a conquest. Simplot's conquest, to be precise.

"Turned you down this time, did he?" Annerson said, not looking up from her book.

"He wants to put more effort into getting back together with his ex!" Simplot exploded, "Can you believe that? And all I did was ask if he wanted to get a drink later! I wasn't trying to seduce him anything! But apparently even being SEEN with another woman, no matter how platonic, would hurt his chances with her!"

"You weren't going to stop with a drink," Annerson went on, "You were going to get him into your quarter then…wait, hold on." She started flipping through the book, "Where did I see…oh yes. 'sigh in pleasure as he takes you into his steely arms, giving you a deep, soulful kiss as he slides-"

"H-HEY!" Shurgroe interrupted, "Comfort level exceeded!"

"Sorry Josh," Annerson said, closing her book, "But y'know, I'm sure they write these things from the male perspective too,"

"Yes, but when it's written from your perspective it's called erotic literature, while from our perspective it's called pornography," Shurgroe said, "The whole thing is a double standard.

"Yes, but on Matria Prime it's the other way around,"

Shrugroe glanced at Simplot in confusion.

"You didn't know that?" she asked, "In Matrian society it's the women that are driven by sex, sport, drink and a lust for power,"

"That's not really fair, Liz," Annerson said.

"OK, no. But you know what I mean. The women are more manly and the men are more…womanish,"

"They're also one of the only races to survive a hundred-year war split on gender lines without going extinct," Annerson added.

"So, if I'm dating a Matrian girl, she's going to be acting…masculine?" Shurgroe said, looking more than a bit worried.

"Don't worry, Josh," Simplot patted his shoulder, "I'm sure we'll have lots of girly-girl tourists coming in from Federation space for you to-"

"We're coming up on Starbase 341!" Shurgroe announced loudly, "Do you want the Captain's tour?"

"We've already seen the station," Annerson said, "We've been in Matrian space for months!"

"Yes, but this time I'm looking at my new command!" Simplot objected, "Yes, I want the Captain's tour!"

Simplot looked out the front window as her new home came into view.

Starbase 341, more informally known as the City of Haven hovered in space over Matria Prime, a fat grey disk over three kilometres in diameter. From their current approach they could see the broad underside of the city. In the center was a huge energy transceiver array, used to channel power from the planet to the city during the city's launch two months prior. Six heavy, purplish support columns ran to the outer edge of the disc, expanding into six curved, triangular extrusions. A series of dark engines ringed the underside of the city, capable of moving it at speeds up to full impulse. Looking up towards the edge of the outside rim one could see that the curved extrusions housed Haven's six shipyards. Ringing the outer edge of the city between the shipyards was a band containing hundreds of brightly lit windows, interspaced with a series of docking bays.

"It's sure…big…" Shurgroe said, looking at his displays. He didn't even look out the window as he brought the runabout up over the edge.

He may not have been paying attention, but Annerson and Simplot were transfixed by the view out the windows. As the runabout cleared the outer rim they could see why exactly Haven was referred to as a city instead of a space station. Above the upper surface of the disc arced a gleaming, transparent dome beneath which stood dozens upon dozens of towers. Illumination units built into the dome supports were dark, indicating that the city was in its night cycle. A series of glowing antigravity tracks converged in the center of the city where a large cluster of buildings was surrounded by a ring-shaped lake, the waters reflecting the stars above the dome. Surrounded by the Outer Rim on all sides, the city gave the impression of being built in the protection of an isolated valley, or inside the lip of a perfectly circular crater.

The shuttle arced over the dome. Dead-center, the central building complex reached right to the dome itself, where the pod-shaped command complex was imbedded halfway through the clear material. Looking through the broad windows, Simplot could see the temporary caretaker crew sitting at their stations. One Matrian female looked up at the runabout, waving politely before returning to work.

Passing the command complex, the runabout followed the curve of the dome down to the Outer Rim. The heavy doors of one of the hangers were already opening, flower-petal style, as the runabout lined itself up with the approach vector. A hatch in the ceiling opened and an oddly shaped platform easily big enough for the runabout slid down, support struts linking it to a central column. Once the landing platform had reached its lowest position, Shurgroe set the runabout down gently and finally pulled his eyes from the display.

"So," he asked, "Did I miss anything?"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

They secured the runabout, then stood on the landing pad for several minutes.

"Shouldn't somebody be here to meet us?" Simplot wondered, one index finger in her mouth, "I mean, I'm the new commanding officer, right? I should get a greeting party."

"You'd think," Annerson agreed.

They looked around. The hanger doors had already closed and the bay appeared to be deserted. Halfway up one wall near the doors a command booth extended out into the bay, its multi-faceted design almost making it look like an eyeball embedded in the wall. Inside they could see a single female in a Matrian uniform as she tapped at her console, then rose from her seat and left the booth.

"Maybe she's coming down to meet us?" Shurgroe wondered.

"Of course," Simplot nodded agreeably, "She'll be here in a minute or two."

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Boxer and Laarthi sat with Mytim and Dr. Strobnik in the v-shaped cockpit of the USS Roadrunner. Technically it could have been called a bridge; there was a curved Helm station in front at the bottom of the 'V', a command chair in the middle and twin stations in the rear corners for Ops and Tactical, facing outward. To the left and right of the command chair adjacent to the helm console were stations for Sciences and Navigation. Most ships no longer had separate navigation stations, but one had been added in given the special nature of the Roadrunner. Despite the bridge-like layout, the room was still fairly small, which was why Boxer was thinking of it as a cockpit.

"Lieutenant Mytim, why don't you handle Sciences," Dr. Strobnik said, "I will handle Navigation. Lieutenant Boxer, I understand you're a qualified pilot?"

Boxer looked worried.

"I'm qualified for normal flight. I've never flown in a slippery-stream before,"

"Don't worry about it," Strobnik said, "I'll be doing the QS work from Navigation. Now, just-"

"Why does he get to pilot the ship?" Laarthi demanded.

"Well, I just thought-"

"That I wasn't suitable?" Laarthi was almost hissing, "I ranked 4th in my Academy pilot training!"

"If it's really that big a deal," Strobnik shrugged.

"It isn't," Boxer said, sitting at the helm.

"Stop shedding in my seat!" Laarthi snapped.

"Go choke on a furball," Boxer shot back.

"Who's supposed to be in command of this mission?" Mytim asked curiously.

"Lieutenant Commander Virjii," Strobnik said worriedly, "But we had to sedate him to get him on board."

"Why don't you just go back to your quarters and lick yourself for an hour or two while I handle the piloting?" Laarthi was saying.

"Because I'm here to do my duty," Boxer said, "Oh, wait, I forgot. Felines have no concept of duty or loyalty,"

"HSSSSSSS!"

"Maybe we can get one of the other Roadrunner crew members to fly this thing?" Mytim suggested.

"OK change of plans!" Strobnik said loudly, "Mytim, you're piloting. Laarthi, you're at Sciences and Boxer, you're at Ops. We'll all trade places later, OK?"

There was some grumbling, but everybody eventually sat down at their stations. They sat there, staring at each other for a moment.

"Oh, right," Strobnik said, "Virjii was supposed to the…the thing. Ahem. Roadrunner to Ops, requesting departure clearance."

"Clearance granted, Roadrunner. Good luck,"

The hanger door in front of them opened. Mytim tapped at the panel for a moment.

"Haven't flown this class before-OOPS!"

There was a shudder, then the view out the front window abruptly dropped, tilting down. Mytim tapped again, firing thrusters and managing to pull the ship out of the hanger before the saucer dropped all the way to the deck.

"Brought in the landing struts too soon," Mytim tittered nervously, "Forgot about that silly ring-thing at the back,"

The hanger gave way to stars as the Roadrunner slid into space.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"I don't think she's coming," Annerson said. They'd been standing next to the Cataraqui for close to 45 minutes now.

"Well pooh," Simplot said, crossing her arms, "I was expecting at least some kind of welcome party. I mean, I won't lie; I was really hoping the Matrians would have go-go boys for it, or something. But I would have settled for a group of appreciative crewmen and a chance to make a speech." She grimaced. "Josh, call somebody! Make things happen!"

"Call…what? Who?" Shurgroe blinked.

"I don't care!"

"Uh," Shurgroe tapped his badge. "Shurgroe to Ops,"

Silence.

"Shurgroe to Command Complex? Shurgroe to…to…Shipyard One? Shrugroe to anybody?"

The badge remained dead.

"Ohhh, their comm system must run on a different frequency or something!" Simplot fumed, "Come on!"

She started marching off the landing platform and onto a railed walkway that led along the platform support column and towards the rear wall of the hanger. An adjustable ramp made sure the platform was accessible, regardless of its position.

"Liz, where are we going?" Annerson asked as she moved to keep up.

"To the command complex!" Simplot said, "How hard can it be to find?"

Shurgroe looked around the big, ten-deck docking bay and considered the fact that there were eleven more like it spaced around a rim with a diameter of three kilometers.

"Very, very hard," he squeaked. But the women were almost at the hanger exit. Not wanting to be left behind, he jogged to keep up.

The corridors in this part of the city/station were wide, well-lit and very much felt like they belonged in a starship or starbase. Red and blue were the dominant colours, with dark blue support beams and swirly red wall panels. The corridor walls curved inward, broken by the occasional door. Wide vid-screens were strategically placed, but they were either disconnected or nobody present knew how to turn them on. After several minutes of walking, they found a turbolift.

"Command complex," Simplot ordered as the doors hissed shut.

The lift gave an unpleasant sounding 'bllaaattt'.

"Is my universal translator working?" Simplot asked Annerson.

"Go eat a slug," Annerson replied.

"Why, would it help?"

"No, but if you understand that, your translator is working."

"Oh,"

The stood there for a moment.

"Central tower?" Shurgroe tried.

BLAATTTT

"Level forty-two?"

BING!

The lift smoothly accelerated, then began to slow. Within seconds the doors had opened again onto a similar corridor. The trio cautiously stepped out. Behind them, the lift doors closed and they could hear the car move away.

"Uh-oh," Simplot muttered, "Maybe that wasn't such a good idea,"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"I don't think he's going to stay in the seat," Boxer said. He'd been sent back to one of the cramped sets of living quarters to fetch Lt. Cmdr Virjii. The man had been drugged to get him calmly aboard the Roadrunner, and now he was slouched in the command chair.

"Hmm. If only we had something to strap him in with. Some sort of belt that was attached to the seat. A seat belt, if you will," Strobnik cocked his head, "What an interesting idea. I wonder why nobody's though of it,"

"Can we get going?" Laarthi asked, "I don't like being cooped up in this tin can! My quarters don't have so much as a single flower!"

"Yes, yes. They're just charging the Slipstream Stabilizer now," Strobnik said, waving one had absently; "If nothing shorts out we'll be ready to go very soon."

"I've changed my mind," Laarthi said suddenly, "I don't want to get going. In fact, I want off this ship before it goes anywhere,"

"Fraidy-cat," Boxer said.

"Oh, like I haven't heard THAT one before!"

"I'm sure you've heard it plenty,"

"Starbase 45 to Roadrunner," the comm came to life, "Slipstream pulse in ten seconds. Standby,"

"Once the pulse fires, we'll have less than half a minute to get in behind it," Strobnik said.

Outside the Roadrunner's cockpit windows, Boxer could see that they were coming up on the big, dish-shaped contraption. Nearly as big as an Excelsior-class saucer, the device was small enough that a ship could tow it, but much too big to be mounted on a ship itself. A boxy section behind the dish held the power core. Stabilization thrusters fired at random as energy levels built. There was a flash of light from the dish, and the brief impression of something directly at the focal point. It almost seamed as though liquid blue fire was swirling down a giant drain, but before the image could sink in it was wiped out by a brilliant flash of light.

"IN! IN!" Strobnik said frantically, "Activate the slipstream drive!"

"Ouuutttt," Virjii slurred.

"Meep!" Mytim squeezed her eyes shut and tapped the 'activate' button. There was a smooth shifting sensation; outside the window space seamed to give way, splitting on all sides to reveal a shimmering black and blue tunnel.

Mytim opened one eye.

"That's it?" she asked.

"What were you expecting?" Boxer asked.

"Well, from the Voyager report, I was expecting a lot of shaking and rattling and alarms," she admitted.

"I told you, we've been working on this for a while." Strobnik said proudly, "It's perfectly-"

The ship shuddered as it hit a subspace fibre bundle.

"Safe," Strobnik finished.

The ship shook again, this time jolting Virjii out of his seat.

"Aren't we supposed to be scanning for bad things that might blow us up?" Boxer asked.

"Ahem," Strobnik cleared his throat, "They won't blow us up, but they might toss us out of the slipstream. And…er…into a planet,"

They stared at him for a moment.

"Sooo…yes, then," Laarthi said.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Hours after leaving the turbolift, Simplot, Shurgroe and Annerson were no closer to finding the command center. They'd found offices, living quarters, cargo bays and even a few public spaces. But they were still stuck in the outer rim and couldn't seem to be able to figure out how to get into the city itself.

"This is ridiculous," Simplot fumed, "I'm tired and hungry and I'm SUPPOSED TO BE IN CHARGE HERE!"

"We've g-g-g-gone as far as we can in that way and that way," Shurgroe said, pointing in opposite directions. "We must still be in the rim. We just have to find a level that connects to the city,"

"No, we are NOT going back into another turbolift!" Simplot shot back, "That's what started this whole mess!"

"Then we're probably going to keep walking in a circle!" now Shurgroe was starting to get peeved. He kept scratching at the odd symbols shaved into his scalp, "Ohhh, I knew I should have used Persephone today instead of Loki,"

"Those aren't even from the same mythologies!" Annerson rolled her eyes.

"The Following of Persephone includes all mythologies," Shurgroe said, "That's what makes it so great,"

"Are you still going to those silly cult conferences?" Simplot asked.

"More importantly, ARE WE STILL LOST?" Annerson demanded.

They'd rounded a turn in the corridor and had found a small sitting nook.

"I'm taking a break," Simplot announced, plopping into a seat, "Wake me up when something important happens."

"Hello? HELLLOOOO?"

They all looked around, trying to find the source of the voice.

"Um, hi?" Simplot called back. There was the sound of running footsteps, then a man in a Starfleet uniform came running around the corner.

"By Mi Clane," he exclaimed, "At last! I've been alone down here for the past two days! Have you any food? There was water in the bathrooms, but I'm starving!"

The man was wearing the mustard yellow collar of Operations, though his uniform was somewhat rumpled and the scent of body odour was heavy.

"We just got here," Simplot said, trying to stay upwind, "I'm Captain Elizabeth Simplot, station commander-"

"City commander," Shurgroe corrected helpfully, "I'm Josh Shurgroe…shipbuilder!"

"Shut up, Josh," Simplot said, "Now, who are you?"

"I'm Lt. Commander Wyer," the man said, "I am…let me see if I can get the right. I am to be the Director of DoDO, which from what I understand stands for Department of Dome Operations."

"I'm the doctor," Annerson, "Not that any of you seem to care. At least not until you've had your arm burnt off and you're running around screaming 'oh, the humanity',"

"She gets a little cranky when she's lost in a strange station," Simplot said.

"City," Shurgroe corrected.

"SHUT THE F…I mean, thank you, Josh,"

"S-S-S-She's cranky too," Shurgroe told Wyer, "By the way, what species are you?"

"Yynsian," Wyer replied.

"Oh, really? So you have past lives?" Shurgroe asked eagerly.

"Yes."

"How many?"

Wyer looked uncomfortable.

"Fourteen," he admitted.

"Isn't that a lot?" Annerson asked.

"I don't want to talk about it,"

They stared at each other in silence for a moment. Then Wyer sat in one of the empty seats.

"I'm taking a nap," Simplot announced, curling up in her chair. "Wake me up if something important happens.

"Champlain to Captain Simplot," chirped her com.-badge. Shurgroe and Annerson stared at her in shock. Wyer's jaw dropped.

"You mean, all that time and we never thought to try calling one of the ships?" Annerson asked, not really sounding like she wanted to hear the answer.

"All this time HE never thought to call one of the ships?" Simplot pointed at Wyer.

"I don't believe this," Shurgroe groaned, letting his face fall into his hands.

"Simplot here," she tapped her badge.

"Ma'am, we have a priority transmission coming in from Starbase 45. You're needed in Ops immediately,"

"We've been trying to get there," Simplot snapped, "But we're lost! The Matrians never sent anybody to meet us!"

There was an strange triple beep as the Champlain added another channel to the call.

"This is Colonel Abela, Haven Command Complex," a firm, crisp voice said, "And I sent that lazy security guard your arrival times hours ago!"

"Well, nobody met us, and now we're stuck, and our comm-badges didn't work, and the turbolift wouldn't go anywhere, and there's no signs, and-" Shurgroe was rambling.

"I sent him to meet you, your comm-badges just need a minor frequency adjustment and the turbolifts won't take you out of your current section without a command override. Why didn't you take the tram?"

"What tram?" Wyer jumped in.

There was silence for a moment.

"Stay where you are," Abela came back, "I'm sending a security team to bring you in,"

"BUT WE DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG!" Shurgroe wailed, "I'M TOO PRETTY TO GO TO JAIL! THEY'LL DO TERRIBLE THINGS TO ME THERE!"

"Josh, SHUT UP!" Simplot snapped, "Yes, thank you. A security team would be good."

After half an hour (and a forced injection of Shurgroe's medication) there was still no sign of the promised team.

"Maybe they got lost too?" Annerson worried.

"No ma'am, we're right here,"

"AHHHH!" Annerson shrieked, jumping two feet in the air and spinning around to face a nearly naked Matrian male. Shurgroe, Wyer and Simplot jumped to their feet, finding themselves surrounded.

The Matrians were more fit than Simplot might have expected. She didn't expect this fact to be so evident either, but the fact was the whole security team was dressed in loincloths. They were also barefoot, which explained how they were able to move in without alerting anybody. Their long hair was braided behind their backs, their faces were painted with a variety of blues, reds and greens and they had an assortment of straps around arms or legs.

"I'm Lieutenant Franches of the Haven Civil Protection Team," the Matrian male behind Annerson introduced himself.

"I think we need to find them a cool nickname," Simplot muttered to Shurgoe.

"This is Seargent Belil, my second in command," Franches went on, introducing a well-built Matrian woman, "and Corporals Plak and Xikk, squad A and B leaders. May we escort you to the Command Complex?"

"Please," Simplot nodded politely, "And sorry for interrupting your jungle warfare simulation."

"Simulation?" Franches asked curiously.

"Nevermind," Simplot muttered.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

The tram ride to the command complex was fast.

"I apologize for taking you through the lower tunnels," Fanches said, gesturing out at the dimly lit tunnel walls as they rushed by outside the tram windows, "But the topside tracks are down for maintenance,"

"It's just as well," Shurgoe said, "I'm a bit agoraphobic…that big dome would make me nervous."

"Er, yes sir,"

The tram suddenly curved to the right, then it curved up and the tam shot out into a cavernous, ring-shaped space. A series of interconnected antigravity tracks covered the floor, with long, narrow planter-boxes filled with small trees and shrubs strategically placed between them. The ceiling was high above them, various lighting panels hanging down and filling the space with bright, cheerful light. Glass-enclosed staircases led up from the tram loading platforms and several balconies overlooked the space. Nearby, a glass-enclosed crossover bridge connected an elaborate staircase on the outer side of the ring with twin balconies on the inner side.

"This is the Transit Hub," Franches said as the tram pulled into a platform on the inner side, "This is the heart of our public transit system,"

"Roomy," Annerson commented.

"Oh, do they have a coffee shop?" Shurgoe asked, "I could use a latte,"

"Priority message, Josh,"

"Right, right,"

Franches and his team led them down the platform and into a corridor, this one rectangular and paneled in a regular, red & black pattern. Unlike the corridors in the outer rim, this one felt like it belonged in a public building as opposed to a ship. Soon they reached a lobby.

They stepped into a turbolift, one of three visible. Franches pulled out a small, padd-like device and tapped it against the control panel. The lift immediately shot upwards. Through the glass windows in the turbolift doors they could see a blur as dozens of levels sped by.

"You might not like t-his part," Franches said to Shurgroe.

"Why?"

As the car slowed, the view changed from passing levels to a dark shaft as the turbolift car moved from the administrative levels of the Command Tower and towards its peak, where it met the underside of the Command Complex embedded in the city dome. Suddenly, the dark shaft was replaced with glass walls offering an unobstructed view of the city from just below the peak of the dome.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

In the Command Complex itself, Colonel Myres Abela looked anxiously at the chrono on a nearby panel. The control center for the city, the Command Complex was housed in a three-level, pill-shaped pod. The lower level had three turbolift shafts facing out from a central column, ringed by a stone-floored walkway. Six curving windows looked down into the city, holographic overlays able to pinpoint specific buildings or areas of interest. Three curved staircases led to a second walkway that ringed the outer edge of the pod. The outer edge of this walkway was covered in display screens and hidden doorways leading into small offices just off the main chamber. The inner edge sported railings and the occasional lighting unit. Three more stairways led to the command deck itself; a circular affair perched atop the turbolift column and sporting 9 outward facing control pulpits and a holographic display table. Six more curving windows spread over the upper surface of the pod, looking out into space. In the distance, Abela could see the USS Champlain as it continued its routine patrol of the system.

"Silly tribesmen should have been here already," she grunted.

"Yes ma'am," a nearby sensor technician agreed.

"Stop kissing ass!" Abela snapped. She frowned. "Does anybody hear else hear screaming?"

The sensor technician bit her lip.

"What?" Abela demanded.

"Er…nothing ma'am,"

Oh, right. She'd just dressed down that particular crew member.

"Speak your mind!" Abela said, trying not to snap.

"Yes ma'am, I hear screaming,"

"There, was a little honesty so hard?" Abela demanded.

Choosing not to reply, the tech turned back to her panel, only to jump as the turbolift doors down below hissed open and the screaming came to full volume.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Down below, Shurgroe was bolting out of the turbolift.

"Somebody get him!" Annerson shouted.

Before they could catch him, Shurgroe had run into the railing surrounding the lower walkway. He caught himself on the wood rail, finding himself staring down a sheer drop of over 60 levels, right down to the roof of the command tower base.

"AHHHHHH!" Shurgroe seized Simplot in a panicked grasp.

"Aw, c'mon, get off me!" Simplot objected.

"Hold on!" Annerson called, "Just let me…there!"

Coming up behind Shurgroe, she clapped her hands firmly over his eyes. He immediately calmed, screams fading to heavy breathing.

"Josh? Let go of me," Simplot said, "Now,"

"Um…um…" Shurgroe stuttered, "Not yet,"

"You know," a voice said from above them, "In the old Matrian Defence Force I used to serve in, officers were discouraged from public displays of affection,"

The Starfleet officers looked up. Leaning over the railing of the command deck two levels above them was a severe-looking Matrian woman. She wore the bluish-reddish-purplish fatigues of the Matrian Defence Force, with a rank insignia of some kind affixed to her sleeve. Her long, auburn hair was pulled back, braided and as impeccably groomed as the rest of her.

"Well," Simplot said, trying to shrug Shurgroe off (and failing), "I guess we do things a little bit differently in Starfleet,"

"Clearly," Abela said disdainfully.

Finally shaking off Shurgroe, Simplot began mounting the stairs to the second level.

"Josh has a bit of a problem with heights," she said, trying to salvage some level of professionalism, "We're not…involved, if that's what you're worried about,"

"What I'm worried about is the fact that Starfleet has apparently sent us a group of officers that not only can't find their way from a docking bay to a control room, but also has a series of psychological problems!"

"Must be requirement to work here," the sensor technician commented. Abela glared at her.

"Just speaking my mind, ma'am," the technician muttered.

"Why don't you spend two hundred years bouncing between sitting in a stasis tube and watching your civilization collapse around you!" Abela snapped.

"I believe somebody has a back-story," Wyer said as he followed Simplot up the stairs.

"Yeah, luckily it's already been told," Simplot replied, "The Silverado crew found this woman stashed in a stasis tube in Haven's basement. She was the construction manager here before their Gender War broke out and their civilization collapsed."

"I'm also your new First Officer," Abela said dryly, turning to face Simplot as she and Wyer came around the second level and made their way up the next set of stairs to the command deck. Further down, Annerson was leading Shurgroe carefully up the stairs.

"Well, I'm sure we'll be the bestest of friends," Simplots said, trying to be diplomatic.

"I doubt it," Abela said frankly, "But if working for you for a year or two gets me a Starfleet commission and you out of here, I'll put up with you for the time being,"

"Put up with me?" Simplot was taken aback.

"Starfleet commission?" Wyer asked.

"Not now," Abela cut them both off, "I believe there is a very impatient Admiral who has been waiting two hours for you to make your way here!"

"Ohhh, he's going to be mad, isn't he?" Simplot sighed.

"Fissett, bring the Admiral on line," Abela ordered.

A Matrian officer tapped at her panel, then a hologram of Admiral Tunney's head appeared over the central holo-table.

"Captain Simplot, where the hell have you been?" he demanded.

"Lost," Simplot cringed, "They didn't send a welcoming party! We couldn't find our way from the-"

"I don't care," Tunney cut her off, "Now listen carefully: Lieutenant Commander Virgii, your new Chief Engineer along with Lieutenant Mytim, Lieutenant Boxer and Lieutenant Laarthi are en route to Haven in a prototype ship, the USS Roadrunner,"

"Um, OK," Simplot said cautiously.

"Without going into boring details, our scientists here picked up some strange readings when the Roadrunner departed," Tunney went on, "Long story short, the ship's going to fly right past Matria Prime and end up lost in the galactic core if you don't pull them out of slipstream drive!"

"Slipstream drive?" Wyer asked.

"Roadrunner?" Simplot wondered.

Colonel Abela was looking from Tunney's hologram to Simplot and back again.

"You people," she shook her head, "You've screwed up again, and now somebody has to pull your ovaries out of the fire,"

The men winced.

"Can you make the short story a little longer?" Wyer asked after a moment.

Tunney quickly explained the prototype drive, the slipstream stabilizer and the Roadrunner's modus operandi.

"The Roadrunner is meant to tow larger ships, so on her own the drive is only supposed to be used at 30% capacity," Tunney said, "Higher than that and the risk of getting knocked out of the slipstream rises to unacceptable levels. Our readings indicate that not only was the drive activated at nearly three times that power level, but at this rate they're going to flash right past their destination and by the time they realize it they'll be years from the Federation at conventional warp!"

"Ohhh, geez," Simplot covered her eyes with one hand, "That means we're going to be short-staffed, doesn't it?"

"My people are MORE than competent," Abela cut in.

"We all hope so," Tunney said, "because from what the egg-heads here tell me, Haven is the only object in their path that might actually be able to save them.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Aboard the Roadrunner, thing were quiet. Boxer and Laarthi had been seated at the two rear stations, as far away from each other as they could get in the ship's cockpit/bridge. Mytim was still piloting and Dr. Stobnick was handing a glass of cold seltzer water to Virgii.

"So," the still shaken man said, "you forced me aboard this ship against my will, drugged me, and now you want me to command you all for the rest of the trip?"

"It's your assignment," Laarthi pointed out from the back, "So yes, we do,"

"Bloody fine mess," Virgii grumpled. The small ship bucked, sloshing bubbly liquid all over his uniform shirt, "And is the ride supposed to be this rough?" he demanded.

"It's not," Stobnick said, "Lieutenant Mytim, confirm our velocity, please?"

"Board shows the slipstream drive at 18%," Mytim said, "right where you wanted it."

"Odd," Stobnick frowned.

Stobnick's navigation panel started beeping.

"That's also odd," he tapped at it for several moments, "Mytim, are you trying to adjust our course?"

"No, I'd like us to go in a straight line so I can concentrate on more important things," Mytim replied, "Like these horribly dry elbows of mine!"

"It looks like we're going straight," Virgii pointed out the window where the blue and black slipstream tunnel seemed to stretch into infinity.

"Changing course at slipstream velocities isn't as simple as turning the ship!" Stobnick said, "It requires highly complex calculations and preferably a pre-mapped and stabilized slipstream trajectory. Frankly, a course correction in the Roadrunner would be idiotic at this point,"

"This whole ship is suicide in general," Virgii muttered.

"The navigational computer is trying to compute a course correction," Strobnik was starting to sound panicked, "If it sends the commands to the drive…but why is it doing this in the first place?"

Laarthi and Boxer exchanged a look, then bolted out the rear door and out of the cockpit.

"We'll check it out," Boxer called over one shoulder.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Let me see if I understand," Abela said, "Your fancy new experimental ship is flying through an extra-dimensional tunnel, and you think the only way to force it back into normal space is by using Haven's energy transceiver,"

Shurgroe and Wyer were huddled over Lieutenant Fissett at the Matrian's station.

"Modifying big energy-things to solve all our problems is, like, 80% of what Starfleet does," Simplot informed her.

"And this will not damage the city?"

"No, but we do have to move it a few million kilometers for a bit," Wyer called.

"WHAT?"

"And we better get going," Shurgroe added, "We've got less than an hour before the Roadrunner passes through. Their projected course takes them right past the orbit of Matria VI."

"This is a CITY," Abela snapped, "not a starship! You can't just fly it around whenever you feel like it!"

"Actually, since I'm in command here, I'm pretty sure I can," Simplot said, standing firmly next to the larger woman.

"Try it, child," Abela napped.

Annerson, finally freed from babysitting Shurgroe now that he was in the relatively confining command deck, could see that maybe a different approach was called for.

"Colonel," she said, "you oversaw the construction of the city, right?"

"I did," Abela looked down her nose, "And who are you?"

"I'm your new Chief Surgeon," Annerson replied.

"Charming. Would you like an escort to the clinic? I'm afraid the hospital hasn't been opened up yet,"

"I'd like a demonstration of the engines on this city," Annerson said slyly, "I mean, you had to find something that could launch the whole city off the planet, right? They must be pretty powerful,"

"The impulse and antigravity drives channelled power from the planet for lift-off," Abela waved a hand, "They couldn't possibly launch the city off the planet on their own,"

"But they can still move it, right?" Annerson said, "I mean, the city must be capable of moving itself."

"It's not a question of capability," Abela said, "It's a question of taking an important historical artefact and joy-riding around the solar system with it!"

"The lives of over twenty people could be at stake," Simplot chimed in, seeing the game Annerson was playing, "Do you really think your council would object to trying to save them?"

"We promise to put the city back when we're done with it," Annerson said. She turned to Simplot, "Right? I mean, there was that whole Deep Space Nine thing,"

"Yes, we'll put it back," Simplot said, "Really, do you think I want to be out of beaming range of all those shopping opportunities?" she waved a hand towards the planet.

Abela looked from one woman to the other.

"Oh very well," she turned to her officers, "Bring the reactors to full power and begin diverting energy to the propulsion systems. Set course to,"

"186 mark 45," Wyer called.

"What he said,"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Underneath the broad gray outer rim of Haven, the ring of impulse engine outlets flickered to life. Power surged from the city's three antimatter reactors, diverted away from the buildings and city systems they were meant to support and into the propulsion systems. Empty as it was, nobody was really around to notice. Nor did many notice the deep rumbling as the engines cycled up, pushing the city out of orbit and towards Matria VI.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"I hope you're happy," Abela said, checking a display, "we've just gone through the entire monthly fuel usage estimate, and that's just to accelerate to full impulse!"

"In ten minutes? Wyer asked.

"We have a few hundred people in a city designed for a million!" Abela said, "Most of the city is shut down!"

"My tummy feels funny," Shurgoe said, "Can I look at the inertial dampeners? I think they're out of whack,"

"NO!"

"How are those energy pulse modifications coming?" Simplot asked.

"Ma'am, Major Jakerd, Matrian Defence Corps of Engineers," a stocky male turned from one console, "Haven's energy transceiver was designed to transfer power between the city and the planet for lift-off, landing or emergencies. One of the design options actually calls for it to be dismantled so the city can be expanded downward,"

"So…is it going to work?"

Jakerd bit his lip.

"I think so?"

Simplot and Abela turned to stare at him.

"I've never done anything like this before!" Jakerd wailed, tears coming to his eyes, "I'm not a crazy intergalactic hero! I just wanna do my job and be home in time for supper!"

"Oh way to go," Abela shook her head, "Now you set him off! Maybe he and your engineer can have a hugging session to fix everybody's hurt feelings?"

"Really?" Jakerd asked hopefully.

"NO!" Abela and Simplot snapped.

"We're coming up on Matria VI," Fisset called, "Initiating breaking manoeuvre."

Haven abruptly began to tilt on its axis as Fisset started a rotation, bringing the city around so the underside (and the engines) were pointed directly in the direction of flight. The engines flared to life again, slowing the city as it approached its destination.

"Another ten minutes to stop, then we're set," Fisset reported.

"This thing handles like a…like a…" Shurgoe searched for a term.

"Like a billion-tonne city that's supposed to STAY IN ONE PLACE?" Abela shouted.

"Yeah, exactly like that," Shurgroe cringed.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Boxer and Laarthi rushed down a ladder and onto the Roadrunner's lowest deck.

"You realize this navigational problem isn't a coincidence!" Laarthi said.

"I do,"

"Then you probably know what it means!"

"We have a saboteur on board, I would guess!" Boxer growled.

"And we're probably all going to die horribly!"

"Don't be such a drama queen," Boxer replied. He was sniffing the air carefully as they began moving quickly down the cramped corridor, "go check the warp core while I go sniff around the computer core,"

"I don't take orders from you, Agent Boxer!" Laarthi hissed.

"How about from your sense of self-preservation?"

With a final hiss, Laarthi turned and scampered towards engineering.

"Peace at last," Boxer sighed, rubbing his hand-paws over his arms in an effort to get rid of the orangish cat-hair that was sticking there. So much for a quiet assignment with a fun partner who'd enjoy the finer things in life, like chasing squirrels and playing with the ducks.

He stepped into the Roadrunner's small computer core room, barely more than a closet squished between the corridor and the two-deck computer core itself. His eyes scanned the room, his nose filled with an unfamiliar odour. One of the Roadrunner crew he hadn't met yet? No, there was something familiar about the smell, but he couldn't quite put his nose on it.

Normal, normal, normal…wait. Why was there a blinking green box plugged in next to the navigational computer?

BAM!

There was a sudden pain in the back of his head, then the world went dark.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"OK, we're reached the co-ordinates," Lieutenant Fisset reported, "We'll get pulled into Matria VI's gravity well eventually, but we're stable for the moment.

"Shipyard 3 is calling," reported another Matrian tech, "They want us to know that we've left a trail of dismantled starship pieces all the way back to Matria Prime, and that it better be for a good reason,"

"I'll talk to them," Shurgroe said brightly, "I am, a-a-after all, Director of Shipbuilding!"

"Welcome to them," Abela said, gesturing, "Those people have done nothing but whine ever since we took on their little starship refit project,"

"The Roadrunner will be passing through in 8 minutes," Wyer said, eyeing a panel, "We need to breach the slipstream before they get here,"

"Start the energy pulse," Abela commanded.

"Belay that!" Simplot snapped. The Matrian crew looked at Abela, then her, then back at Abela. Slowly, Abela turned to her.

"And why," she asked, her voice low, "are you questioning me?"

"Because it's not time yet," Simplot replied, "You were twenty seconds early," she glanced at the clock, waited a moment, then turned to Fissett.

"Initiate energy beam," she ordered.

Fissett looked at Abela, who nodded. He tapped his panel. Directly below the command complex, on the underside of the city, the energy beam emitter powered up. Energy discharges danced between the grouping of slender, conical transceivers, finally merging into a single beam that speared out. A few kilometres away, space seemed to flex, then warp. A small tear appeared, with energy from the beam vanishing into the extra-dimensional realms where slipstream drive was possible.

In the command tower, the crew could see the lights in the city dimming as power was redirected away from the buildings.

"Put the pulse on screen," Simplot ordered. Fissett just gave her a confused look.

"Activate exterior view," Abela ordered, moving to the railing as the command complex lights dimmed to 'ambient night-time' mode. Simplot, Wyer and Shurgroe gathered around the central holo-table, but nothing happened. Abela, however, had a full view as the lower windows flickered, changing into display screens showing sensor footage from directly below the city. The screens ringing the second level likewise changed from showing security footage to showing sensor footage from the city perimeter. For all intents and purposes, the command pod appeared to its occupants to be floating free in space, the city gone from view.

"Your screen is broken," Simplot called, pointing at the holo-table.

Abela sighed, then gestured at Fissett. With a few button taps, Fissett put the under-city view onto the holo-table.

"Wow," Simplot said, staring down into the table, "It's like looking out a window!"

"You honestly expect me to believe that with the technology at your command, you still prefer to stare at a flat screen?" Abela demanded.

"It's a flat holographic screen," Simplot pointed out, "And what else would we stare at?"

Abela stared down at the stunning view now displayed outside the lower windows and the perfect illusion that the pod was free-floating.

"Just forget it," she said with disgust.

"5 minutes until we breach the slipstream," Wyer said.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Agent Laarthi paced the Roadrunner's tiny engine room. The warp core was humming away, all the consoles were blinking the way they should be and there was absolutely no sign that anything was amiss.

"Stupid dog," she muttered, "who sabotages a computer core when everybody knows engineering is the place to go,"

Sooner or later, her saboteur would show up. In the meantime, it was time to find a comfortable seat to recline in.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Up in the cockpit, Virgii was finally getting the last of the seltzer water out of his tunic.

"How long until we reach Matrian Space?" he asked.

"Another two days," Strobnik reported.

"I thought this slipstream thing was supposed to be fast!"

"You'd rather take several weeks at conventional warp?"

"Bugger, no," Virgii shook his head. He looked around for a moment, "Well, if everybody else is taking care of things, I suppose I'll just close my eyes for a moment."

At the helm, Lieutenant Mytim had found a pumice stone from somewhere and was in the process of grating a callous off of one dainty foot. If she'd been watching her console, she might have noticed that the slipstream sensors had changed from green to yellow.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Two minutes until slipstream breach," Wyer reported.

"Keep the engines on standby," Simplot said, "If they come flying out of that thing, we might have to take evasive manoeuvres,"

Abela stared at her.

"You just don't get it, do you?" she demanded.

"Get what?"

Abela's left eye twitched slightly.

"Do you need a break?" Simplot asked, "You don't look so well."

Abela stalked to the opposite side of the holo-table and sat heavily in one of the seats.

"No career boon is worth this," she muttered.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Agent Boxer regained consciousness upside down. His arms were tied to his sides and his feet had been tied around a support strut. He was still in the computer core control room, but there was no sign of his assailant. The small box attached to the navigational computer was still counting down…in less than 30 seconds it would send the course corrections to the slipstream drive, possibly screwing things up beyond belief. At least, he assumed that's why there was a series of numbers counting down on one small display. He struggled for a moment, then resigned himself to the fact that he was stuck but good.

"LAAARRRTHIII!" he shouted, "GET IN HERE!" He followed the demand with several loud barks, just in case. Twenty seconds! Glancing around, Boxer realized he had only one option. He jerked, trying to get his body swinging. Forward, back. Forward, back. He wasn't quite reaching the box!

5, 4, 3, 2, 1, 0…

The Roadrunner started to shake.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

In the cockpit, Mytim's feet were abruptly shaken off the helm console.

"Uh-oh," she said, noticing her panel for the first time in several minutes.

"What?"

"All the slipstream sensors are red,"

Strobnik glanced at the helm.

"There's a serious discontinuity in the slipstream ahead!" he said.

"Isn't your fancy stabilizer thingy supposed to get rid of these?" Virjii demanded, his eyes now wide open.

"Well…yes," Strobnik admitted. There was another shake, rattle and even part of a roll. "And we're changing course!"

"Deathtrap," Virjii muttered.

"Bridge to Boxer, any luck with that navigational thing?" Strobnik demanded, tapping on the comm, "Lieutnant Laarthi, where are you?"

"I'm in engineering," Laarthi's voice came back, "The dog is sniffing around the computer core. I think he was barking about something a second ago. I was trying to decide whether or not to help him,"

"Stay there!" Strobnik ordered, "I need you to adjust the deflector stream, otherwise we're going to make an uncontrolled re-entry into normal space!"

"That means we'll crash and burn," Mytim clarified.

"Yes, I got that," Virjii replied.

"LLLAAAARRTTTHIIII!" Boxer wailed, "You stupid cat!" He was swinging as hard as he could, but couldn't quite reach the box. The ship shook again, sending him bouncing against the wall. At the last second, he managed to push off with his shoulder just enough to get enough momentum to put his head in range of the box. With a snap of his jaws he snagged an exposed data conduit. Ignoring the painful sparks, he twised his head, growling as he tore through the connections.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Course is returning to normal," Mytim replied, clinging to the panel as the Roadrunner's shaking went from the occasional love-tap to a constant rattle.

"It doesn't seem to be helping!"

"I don't understand!" Strobnik said, "I've never seen a slipstream disrupted like this!"

"Can you keep us from blowing up?" Virjii demanded.

Strobnik thought for a moment.

"Yes. Yes, I think the slipstream is going to collapse no matter what, but if we override the drive's cool-down period we can jump back in just past the disruption. Whatever this thing is, it must have happened after the stabilization pulse passed through."

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Roadrunner expected in 30 seconds," Wyer reported.

"So where are you from, anyway?" Simplot asked.

"Yyns. This really isn't the time," he replied.

"Oh pooh," Simplot said, "Is there really anything else that we can do right now?"

"We've breached the slipstream!" Fissett called, "I think. I don't know what a slipstream really is, but all sorts of strange things started happening."

"Shut down the energy pulse," Wyer called, "Let's not fry our colleagues,"

There was a 'SCHHHWWWOOOOPPP' sound as something big shut down.

Wyer turned to Simplot.

"Now is the time," he managed to say, right before the whole city jerked.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"We'll falling out of slipstream drive!" Mytim called.

"NOW, Lieutenant Laarthi!" Virjii ordered.

On Mytim's panel, a series of controls shifted from 'Locked' to 'Unlocked'.

"Slipstream available," she reported.

"Go!"

The Roadrunner shook like a baby's rattle as outside the windows the whirling blue tunnel collapsed into the black of normal space, then just as quickly the stars seemed to tear away as the ship plunged back into the glowing tunnel.

"Energy drain!" Mytim snapped from the hail, "The drive is overloading!"

Strobnik ran his hands frantically over his console.

"Something's being pulled into the slipstream with us!" he called out, "I'm narrowing the field!" The ship shook again, the tunnel almost collapsing back to normal space before the ship finally righted itself and escaped back into the hyper-dimensional realms.

As the ride smoothened out, Virjii slowly relaxed his death-grip on his chair.

"Three more days, you say?"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

The whole thing happened in seconds.

There was a brilliant flash of light, less than a kilometer from Haven's underside. There was a faint suggestion of a silhouette; a sleek hull with an aft ring-nacelle and just the barest hint of conventional nacelles. The light grew, seemed to twist, then the silhouette stretched like rubber and vanished

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Aboard Haven, everybody grabbed for consoles and railings as the entire city jolted.

"What the f-" Simplot managed to get our before falling to the floor. The windows looking out into space were awash with shifting energy.

"We're caught in some kind of spatial distortion!" Fissett cried, "I've never…I mean, I don't know…"

"MOMMY!" Major Jakerd wailed.

The energy abruptly tore away from the city dome, revealing a sparking tunnel of blue on black. Just as quickly as it appeared, the tunnel vanished, replaced by open space.

"What happened?" Abela demanded as Simplot picked herself up off the floor.

"I think we were pulled partway into the slipstream," Wyer reported. Fissett looked at him, annoyed.

"And how can you possibly know that already?" she demanded.

"Observation," Wyer replied, "Check our navigational sensors,"

Fissett tapped away.

"We're…wow…we're in interstellar space!" she replied.

"How far from Matria Prime?" Abela demanded.

"Ohhh, please don't let us be another Voyager," Simplot squeezed her eyes shut and crossed her fingers, "Or Aerostar. Their death toll was terrible."

"We're about a week away from Matria Prime at impulse power," Wyer reported, reading over Fissett's shoulder, "It'll take a few hours to work out the flight trajectory, but I see no problem getting us back in orbit. Luckily we were barely in the slipstream for a second. Something the size of the city would have been torn apart before long anyway,"

"Oh thank God!" Simplot sighed. Her eyes popped open.

"Wait, where's the Roadrunner?"

There was a moment of relative silence, broken only by the sounds of fingers on control panels.

"No sign of them," Jakerd replied with a sniffle, "Those poor, poor people,"

"Well, they have an experimental drive system," Wyer shrugged, "They should have known those things never work out properly,"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Two days later…

"Is this supposed to be happening?" Virjii demanded as the Roadrunner yet again started shaking, "This whole ride has been far rougher than advertized,"

"The computer can't correct properly for the slipstream variances," Strobnik shook his head, "I don't understand! A stabilizer pulse is supposed to travel thousands of light-years before it dissipates. Those idiots must have used the wrong settings or something,"

The shaking was getting worse.

"We can't maintain the slipstream for much longer!" Strobnik said, "The variances are getting too strong!"

"How far are we from Matrian Space?"

"About 5 days at conventional warp," Mytim replied, "Based on engine output and slipstream duration."

"Take us out of slipstream," Virjii ordered, "I'd rather get there in one piece than several. Plenty of time for an after action review, eh doc?"

"But this is a great chance to try some of the new variance calculations I've been working on!"

"No,"

The ship bucked again.

"That one almost threw us out!" Mytim called.

"Disengage slip-"

The ship rolled hard to port as the slipstream tunnel abruptly vanished, replaced with a spinning starfield.

"Slipstream drive has failed!" Mytim called over the blare of alarms.

"Proximity alert!" Boxer called from the rear station. Laarthi had untied him days ago, but had had no luck finding his assailant and had so far avoided even bringing the matter up with Virgii or Strobnik, "There's something out there!"

"I KNOW!" Mytim called. Directly in front of her, out the cockpit windows, she could see the rapidly approaching surface of a very small planet or a very large moon.

"Evasive manoeuvres!" Virjii called out.

"I'm evading! I'm evading!"

Rolling and veering out of the control, the Roadrunner careened directly at a pair of craggy mountains. Mytim fired the manoeuvring thrusters, trying to steer the ship away. There was a loud BANG and a sharp jolt, then they were clear. The ship sped above the surface as Mytim regained control, then soared back into space.

"That was close," Laarthi commented.

"That was way too close," Virjii agreed, "Damage report?"

"We've damaged the ring nacelle," Strobnik reported, shaking his head, "The lower edge smashed against the mountain. The slipstream drive will be offline until I've had a chance to rebuild it. Ohhh, all that work, down the drain,"

"Relax doctor, we're not going anywhere for a while," Virjii smiled, relieve that the ride was over, "Lieutenant Boxer, get Matria Prime on the comm. Tell them we may have left a few pieces behind on somebody's moon, but we're on our way."

There was a pause.

"No reply," Boxer said.

"Uh-oh," Mytim said.

"Uh-oh?"

"We're not in Matrian space," she said.

Virjii felt a cold pit forming in his stomach,"

"Then where are we?"

"We're…we're over 8,000 light-years closer to the galactic core" she replied, her face going pale, "We're years from Federation space!"

"And the slipstream drive is broken?" Boxer asked, his ears perked up.

"Worse than that," Strobnik said slowly, "Without a stabilizer, we can't risk using the slipstream drive, even if it was working."

Virjii covered his face with his hands.

"Oh no, not again!" he groaned.


	2. 2 - Bypass

Star Traks: Halfway to Haven 1.2 – "Bypass"

Captain's Log, USS Roadrunner, Stardate 59342.6, Lt. Cmdr Virjii recording:

"Finding ourselves stranded years from Federation space with a severe staff shortage, I've taken full command of this vessel. We're currently on course in the general direction of Federation space while Dr. Strobnik begins the process of repairing the quantum slipstream drive."

"I've already told him 'I told you so', and plan on repeating the action every hour on the hour until we return home."

"I've assigned Lt. Mytim to oversee modifications to our deflector dish that should allow us to send a message back to Starfleet, informing them of our new location and the fact that we're still alive and require help. Hopefully, they can send another QS-equipped vessel to give us a tow back. According to Dr. Strobnick, the Roadrunner is one of three vessels intended to act as slipstream tugs."

"Assuming he can get the bugs out of the system."

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"I don't understand what happened," Dr. Strobnik said, seated in the Roadrunner's small conference room one deck below the bridge, "Our helm and navigational logs show that we were operating the drive at low levels. But the engineering logs show the drive was running close to 75%, hence the rougher than expected ride and the premature failure. There's no sign of any malfunction in the control linkages. I just don't get it,"

"Maybe somebody forgot to convert to Metric at one end?" Lt. Mytim suggested, trying to brush away a wisp of dark hair that was getting in her eyes.

Strobnik looked at a padd for a moment.

"Oh yes," he muttered, "Somebody used the wrong measurement units in the engineering control software." He looked around. "See? This is why you need to use graduate students instead of undergrads on major projects. At least now I can make my case to Starfleet R&D. But don't worry; I'll just have to make sure this is fixed in the next version-"

"WE'RE LOST IN SPACE BECAUSE ONE OF YOUR IDIOT DESIGNERS CAN'T DO MATH?" Virgii shouted.

"Well, they actually did the math, they just forgot-"

"We have a bigger problem," Mytim cut in, addressing Virgii, "Your log is incorrect,"

He stared at her incredulously for a moment.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked.

"You stated you were recording the 'Captain's Log'," she said, "That's not right. You should change it."

"I am in command of this ship," Virgii said, "I'm the Captain, by convention if not by rank."

"Correct," Mytim nodded.

"I recorded the log after I assumed command of the Roadrunner,"

"Yes, you did," Mytim nodded.

"Then what is the bloody problem?" Virgii demanded.

Mytim looked at him as though he were a simpleton.

"You should have said 'Acting Captain's Log," she said, "It's more accurate,"

"You're dismissed," Virgii said curtly, his face starting to turn red and his officious British accent becoming even more officious, "See to the deflector modifications, Lieutenant,"

"OK," Mytim stood, shrugged and stepped out the door, "Don't worry about the log, I'll remind you later,"

Virgii's left eye twitched. He took several deep breaths, then turned to Strobnik.

"How long until you can fix the quantum slipstream drive?" he asked.

"One week," Strobnik said immediately, "Plus or minus 1.2 days, 19 times out of 20,"

"Really?" Virgii started. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. "That quickly?"

"That quickly if I have access to a shipyard, the entire crew compliment and all the parts and materials I need," Strobnik clarified, "After all, we did rip off the lower quarter of the ring nacelle on our arrival here."

"Can't you just modify something else to do the job?" Virgii asked, his brief period of hope quickly fading.

"If you'd like to be torn apart at the quantum level, certainly,"

Virgii was almost afraid to ask the next question.

"And do we have the parts we need?" he asked, bracing himself.

"Oh yes, of course we do," Strobnik nodded.

Virgii looked at him, surprised.

"Really?"

Strobnik looked uncomfortable.

"Well, one of my students did point out that the chances of getting stuck in the middle of nowhere due to a break-down were statistically significant," he admitted, "So we were careful to ensure the Roadrunner was equipped with a nano-tech equipment replication center. We can manufacture any part we need, provided we have energy and raw material,"

"Repair time, assuming we find a hospitable planet to set down on?"

"Without a shipyard? Two months."

"Well then," Virgii stood, "Let's start looking for a habitable planet. The sooner we get out of this region of space and back into familiar territory, the better,"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

First Officer's Log, Starbase Haven, Stardate 59343.2 Colonel Myress Abela recording:

"We have successfully accelerated the city to full impulse power and are en route to Matria Prime. A 90-degree x-axis rotation has shifted the city's rim into our velocity vector, to better reduce the power needs of shielding the dome surfaces from micro-meteor fragments. Reactors 2 and 3 have been powered down as a result and due to low staffing levels-"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Whoah, whoah, whoah," Captain Elizabeth Simplot said, interrupting Abela's carefully planned dictation, "That has GOT to be THE MOST boring log entry I've ever heard in my life!"

Abela turned slowly to face the shorter woman, the entire command center falling silent as the Matrian crew braced for impact. (Unlike the new Starfleet officers, they knew better than to interrupt a log entry.)

"And what," she said dangerously, "was wrong with it?"

"Nobody cares about x-axis rotations and hull shielding!" Simplot said, "I don't think the Admirals who read this stuff even understand what an x-axis is. Just tell them we're flying the city back to Matria Prime and be done with it so I can go shopping!"

"One: the city does not 'fly'. Flying implies the presence of gravity and an atmosphere. Two: if the city were in the presence of gravity it would crash rather spectacularly. Unless you could feed somewhat ridiculous amounts of power into its engine array. Three, you can't go shopping, we don't have any stores open yet,"

Simplot didn't say anything.

"In that case, I'll return to recording my log," Abela started to turn away.

"Wait, no," Simplot said quickly, "Sorry, you were boring me with the city stuff and I stopped paying attention." Two of the Matrian technicians snickered knowingly, until Abela shot a glare in their direction. "And I'm taking a runabout to Matria Prime and shopping there. Do you want anything?" Simplot started making her way down the stairs leading out of the command deck.

"You're leaving NOW?" Abela demanded, "Our shift doesn't end for three more hours!"

"I know, but it's already 1300 in Matronus," Simplot said, "By the time I get there by runabout, I'll be lucky if I can get four hours of decent shopping in,"

"So you're just going to abandon your post to go buy…buy…what exactly?"

"I don't know yet. Beside, I'm not abandoning it, you're still here. Now do you want anything or not?"

"We're still days from Matria Prime!" Abela sputtered.

"Not by runabout," Simplot shrugged, "I can make a short warp hop in the Cataraquai and be there in under half an hour,"

Abela stared at her.

"What? There are warp-capable Matrian ships on board too. I checked. Your people can visit home whenever they want," Simplot shrugged, "It's not like we're stranded in deep space, years from home. Don't get mad at me if the idea didn't cross your mind,"

"Nobody authorized that!"

"I'm authorizing it," Simplot said, "Now, I'm going to run or I'll be late,"

"And what about your security officer? The one that's missed two duty shifts in a row now?" Abela demanded.

"You're the first officer; personnel matters are your job," Simplot called back up, "In Starfleet, and in the Matrian Defence force. I even looked it up!"

Abela turned away, fuming.

"Well, don't forget that I offered to get you something!" Simplot said, just as the turbolift doors closed.

Abela stood in the center of the command deck, fuming.

"You know," Lt. Fissett said, "It's my brother's birthday in two days…"

Abela was about to open her mouth and tell Fissett to go to hell when a better idea crossed her mind.

"Send all your travel requests to the attention of Captain Simplot," she said instead, "And circulate a memo to that effect to the ENTIRE staff,"

"All 150 of us?"

"It's a start."

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"So this is what a Matrian antimatter reactor looks like," Lt. Cmdr Josh Shurgroe said.

"Yes, yes it is," Lt. Cmdr Wyer replied calmly, standing next to him.

The two men were in a large chamber deep under the city's 'ground'. Haven had three antimatter reactors providing power, evenly spaced around the center of the city just past the outer shore of the ring-shaped lake surrounding Downtown. Directly above each reactor was a large, windowless building that housed water filtration, waste processing and atmospheric recycling equipment for the vast, domed city. The reactor itself was fairly unusual: six pillars rose from floor to ceiling, each containing either matter or antimatter fuel conduits. Between them, stacked from floor to ceiling and connected to opposing fuel pillars via a pair of injector assemblies were three separate reaction chambers, the whole assembly reaching more than five decks in height.

"It's a very r-r-redundant design," Shurgroe noted, "You could take a reaction chamber off-line for maintenance without shutting down the whole core, you could blah, blah-blah, blah, yak, yak yak,"

Wyer had stopped paying attention to the other engineering officer, his eyes filled with the dancing blue and red light playing over the gleaming metal walls of the reactor room. It was beautiful, with a clarity that just screamed to him. Walking forward between the fuel pillars, he gently placed his hands on the lowest reactor core.

"H-hey," Shurgroe said loudly, breaking him out of his reverie, "I said they had great safety mechanisms, I didn't say it was a good idea to get up close and personal,"

"Hmmm? Yes, yes of course," the Yynsian pulled back. "I don't know what I was thinking,"

"Yeah well, neither of us should be worrying about this thing, but since Lt. Cmdr Virgii is missing in action, we've got to pick up the slack."

"Of course," Wyer nodded, "Unfortunately, the Matrians are no more familiar with Old Matrian technology than we are,"

Wyer had been assigned to head the Department of Dome Operations or DoDO, the Matrian group that was responsible for maintaining the environment and equipment in Haven's domed city. All of the towering buildings that made up Downtown, the Suburbs and the Inner Rim were his responsibility, along with power distribution, atmospheric and weather systems, landscaping, public transit and everything else associated with maintaining a city. Shurgroe had been assigned to head the Department of Shipbuilding or DoS, which of course had jurisdiction over the six shipyards ringing Haven's outer rim. Beneath the city itself, below the towers, buildings and the first couple of underground levels that connected them was a labyrinth of engineering spaces, tram tunnels, government and departmental complexes and storage bays. The outer rim of the city itself, in addition to the shipyards, contained docking facilities, cargo handling facilities, public spaces, living quarters, research facilities and everything else you might expect in a space station. All of this was supposed to be handled by Lt. Cmdr Virgii and the Department of Maintenance Operations (DoMO); none of it was supposed to be their problem. But with Virgii and the rest of the Roadrunner's crew MIA, Wyer and Shurgroe were getting shafted.

"Y-you've got the lucky end of this one," Shurgroe said, wrapping his arms nervously around his sides, "The city is pretty much empty. I've got one shipyard already going on the Silverado rebuild, and I can't even get the guys running it to let me in! The keep telling me it's not my problem and to stay out of their hair!"

"You just have to be more assertive," Wyer said, "Look, why don't we find a pleasant place to have lunch and go over these design schematics, then you can worry about the shipyard first thing tomorrow morning?"

"Where can we eat? Nothing's open yet!"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

In the Roadrunner's cramped navigational deflector control closet, Lt. Rex Boxer and Lt. Minn Laarthi were trying to maintain as much of a distance from each other as possible. Given the fact that the control room was more like a closet and that it was cramped, this wasn't working out too well. But you may have already inferred that fact.

"Get your TAIL out of my FACE, dog!" Laarthi hissed.

"Get your FACE away from my TAIL, cat!" Boxer growled right back. His arm was elbow-deep in an open control panel. Laarthi shifted position, nudging Boxer who then accidentally brushed against an active power conduit.

BZZZZTTTTT!

"YEOOWOWEEEERRR!" Boxer yipped, yanking his arm out of the panel. "You did that on purpose!"

"I completely did not," Laarthi replied haughtily, wrinkling her nose as the smell of burnt fur filled the air, "If I had wanted to, I would have done so while the power levels were high enough to kill you. Now hurry up and finish this, we have more important matters to discuss,"

"We do? Like what?"

"LIKE SABOTAGE!"

"You think the quantum slipstream drive was sabotaged?" a voice said from the closet door. Laarthi spun around to find Lt. Mytim standing there.

"Of course not," Laarthi said quickly before Boxer could get a word in, "There was no evidence of that whatsoever. I was talking about Master Crewman Martell's disastrous attempt at preparing breakfast this morning,"

"I see," Mytim examined the nails on one hand, "How are you progressing? I realize Stellar Cartographers don't usually do this sort of work, but we are short staffed."

Boxer's hand again emerged from the panel, a fist-sized faceted gem gripped between padded fingers.

"The particle focusing crystal needs to be replaced with something with a sturdier crystalline structure," he said, "But we can't replicate one. If we start a crystal growth, we might have something usable in a couple of weeks."

"We have a nano-tech replication system on board," Mytim waved her hand. She must have spotted an errant hangnail or something, as the hand was immediately back in front of her face, "I'll get authorization for you to use it,"

Squinting at her fingers, she wandered off.

"Well that didn't work," Laarthi mused, "Now how are we going to keep them from contacting Starfleet?"

Boxer and Laarthi, despite what the rest of the crew believed, were not Stellar Cartographers. They were actually Special Agent Boxer and Special Agent Laarthi of Starfleet Intelligence. Their overall mission was to carefully assess the Matrian Intelligence Team on Haven and to begin integrating them into Starfleet Intelligence. They'd also been told that somebody was planning on stealing the Roadrunner prototype, a tip that had been proven correct after Boxer had found an unknown device attached to the Roadrunner's navigational controls. The device had been preparing to alter the Roadrunner's course, presumably taking it to a location where the thieves or buyers or whatever were waiting to seize the ship. Currently, the remains of the gadget were hidden under Boxer's bed.

"I don't understand why you don't want Virgii to contact Starfleet," Boxer said.

"Because if Virgii can contact Starfleet, whoever is arranging this little theft will know where we are, and that their operative on board is still in action!" Laarthi snapped, "Of course, I don't expect you to understand higher strategy or planned thinking!"

"Who's people hunt in co-ordinated packs, and who's people skulk around on their own most of the time?" Boxer countered, "But why don't we just tell Virgii and Strobnik that somebody sabotaged the drive? As long as we're the only two that know there's a saboteur on board, we're very vulnerable! Whoever is doing this could just decide to vent our cabins to space to silence us!"

"We're already being silent!" Laarthi said, "And there are only 26 people aboard this ship. We will find the saboteur before long. Until then, we have to be sure that the Roadrunner stays out of contact and that the slipstream drive remains offline. And I know just how to do that,"

Boxer felt a growl in his throat. She made good points, but all this scheming and double-talk just reeked too much of feline thinking for his taste.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Lt. Cmdr Taylor Virgii was lying on his bed in his tiny quarters. The room was undecorated, as he'd only expected to send a few days there. What possessions he'd been bringing to Starbase 341 were still stowed down in the small cargo hold, and he felt no need to dig them out and attempt to make his quarters homier. No, the only need he was really feeling at the moment was a strong desire to strangle Strobnik, along with whatever big-wig in Command had ordered this ridiculous ship into service.

"Boxer to Virrrgii,"

"Virgii here, and no Lieutenant, I haven't had a chance to replicate any more MilkBones," Virgii replied, not moving from his bed.

"Sir, there's been an accident. We need you on Deck 4, Nano-Tech Fabrication,"

Uh-oh.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"This is how we…er, I found it," Boxer said, fighting not to shift his eyes to Laarthi, "I'd come down to have a part fabricated for the deflector modifications, and it was already like this,"

The 'it' in question was a cylindrical pedestal about the size of your average café table. A matching overhead assembly came down from the ceiling, leaving a 6 foot gap almost like a wide transporter pad. Unlike transporters (or replicators) the nano-tech system used an army of billions of microscopic robots to assemble components or parts too delicate, fragile or exotic for replicators. The nano-tech system was still in the prototype stages, based on more technology brought back by Voyager. And, at the moment, it was smoking and sparking.

Virgii pulled off a side panel. A round object, no more than six inches in diameter, fell out. It's surface was crispy and charred, but when it hit the floor a thick, gooey substance started oozing out.

Boxer sniffed at it carefully, though of course he knew what it was. He'd put it there.

"Jelly donut," he announced.

"We've lost the ONLY way we have to repair the QS drive because SOME IDIOT put a DONUT in an ACCESS PANEL?" Virgii shouted.

"It happens more than you'd think, sir," Laarthi spoke up, "It was probably left there by a construction crew. Common problem."

Virgii clenched his fists.

"I'm going to kill Strobnik," he snapped, turning to leave.

Boxer and Laarthi, the real pastry perpetrators, started to sigh in relief.

"Oh, and Lt. Boxer," Virgii turned back, "You're now Chief of Security until we get back to Starbase 341. Congratulations. Lt. Laarthi, consider yourself Chief Engineer,"

"But I don't know anything about-" Boxer and Laarthi said together.

"Not relevant," Virgii cut them both off, "We now have no way to contact Starfleet, no way to repair the QS drive and possibly years of travel time ahead. You'll learn."

He left.

"That worked perfectly," Laarthi said, rubbing her hand-paws together, "You are now in a perfect position to search for our saboteur, and I can be sure we don't get back too quickly,"

Boxer tried and failed to stop a small whimper from escaping.

"Don't be such a kitten!" Laarthi hissed, "We have a mission to complete. And unless the crew on this ship are exceptionally incompetent, they'll have this fabricator back up and running in a week or two,"

Boxer said nothing, just turning to leave. He wouldn't say it to Laarthi, but with the Roadrunner lost in space Virgii was now the closest equivalent to a ship's Captain that they were likely to get. Which also, in Sheppian terms, made him the leader of the pack.

And deceiving his pack leader was not going to be easy.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Thousands of light-years away and a day or so later, Colonel Abela was standing in the Command Tower's Principle Conference & Observatory Deck wondering just where the hell everybody was. Located at the very center of the city, the Command Tower was a thick, tapered tower stretching from the top of the Transit Hub right to the Command Complex and the dome itself. Attached to the central tower were six shorter towers containing offices, research laboratories, workstations, analysis rooms and everything else that might be needed to run the city. A further six towers also stood atop the Transit Hub, containing residences and guest facilities. The whole assembly along with a dozen or two surrounding towers and buildings reached to the edges of the small island and was generally referred to as Downtown. The Conference & Observatory Deck was near the top of the central tower. The circular level had been divided into three sections; an executive conference room with red and black marble paneling, crystal chandeliers and centuries-old Matrian artwork, a similarly-decorated dining room with cabinets of fine china and crystal glassware and work/study room with overstuffed leather chairs and a holographic fire-place. It was the kind of place that business moguls like Bradley Dillon would have appreciated, possibly the kind of place they'd want in their own headquarters buildings.

And, at the moment, it was empty.

On the inner wall of the conference room the wood-and-glass style turbolift doors rolled aside and Lt. Cmdr Wyer stepped quickly out.

"Good morning, Colonel," he said immediately, "We were trying to get from our temporary quarters to the nearest tram station when we…Josh?" he looked around. "I swear he was taking the next lift,"

Next to the turbolift doors an old-style hinged door leading to the dining room clicked open, revealing Lt. Cmdr. Shurgroe.

"S-S-S-Sorry," he said, "I said conference room, but I guess the elevator shaft I was in only goes that…um…sorry,"

"Oh, think nothing of it," Abela said calmly, "After all, it would be foolish of me to expect any of you pampered Starfleet types to be on time…" she trailed off. "Yes, Lt. Cmdr. Shurgoe?"

Shurgroe had raised his hand.

"If we're late, where are the Matrian crewpeople?" he asked.

Abela blinked. Where indeed? She'd gotten so worked up over the missing Starfleet officers that she'd completely missed the fact that her own people hadn't show up yet either.

The doors hissed open again and Lt. Franches, Chief of the Haven Civil Protection Team stepped in, his loincloth swinging in the breeze and the various beads and leather straps on various body parts rustling with every moment.

"I tried looking for that Starfleet man, but he…oh…am I early?" he said.

"You're late," Abela said.

"Actually," Wyer looked from his wrist chono to the ornate, hand-made Matrian clock that rested on one cabinet, "He is early. We all are. Your clock is running fast,"

Abela blinked again as the doors hissed open again revealing Lt. Fissett and Major Jakerd, officers of the Department of Research & Knowledge (Sciences) and the Department of Maintenance Operations (Engineering/Ops) respectively. The doors to the work/study room opened and Dr. Annerson stepped out.

"This place is like navigating a maze," she complained.

"Hey, HEY!" Abela snapped as Fanches sat in one of the high-backed chairs, "What did we discuss?"

"Yes, yes," Fanches stepped to a storage cabinet and pulled out a towel, which he then placed over the leather seat before sitting.

"Loincloths and sweat don't mix with leather," Abela explained, taking her seat, "Now, if our brave leader will show…"

The doors opened yet again and Captain Simplot emerged, arms laden with packages.

"Wow, they had some GREAT deals going on!" she said, waddling into the room, "Colonel, you don't know what you missed! We started at Matronus, then we just kept jumping cities to keep in business hours." She reached the table and opened her arms, letting a pile of packages spill onto the table, "By the way, the rest of it's being delivered later today,"

"And you didn't leave all this at your quarters why?" Abela asked tightly.

"I wanted to show you what I found!" Simplot said, rubbing at her red and slightly baggy eyes, "Lookit this!" she pulled out a small humanoid statue with squid-like legs and six breasts, "Won't this look great on an end-table?"

Fanches and Abela immediately looked away.

"That," Abela said, "Is a sacred idol to the goddess Hasura, and it's blasphemous to display it in public OR in private or ANYWHERE OTHER THAN A SHRINE!"

"Oh, really?" Fissett cocked her head.

"Look away!" Abela snapped.

"OK, ok," Fissett and Jakerd obeyed. Due to the nastiness of a century or two or war and suspended hibernation, most Matrians were largely unfamiliar with their ancient culture. Abela, having lived before the war and Fanches, having been part of a tribe of Matrians that managed to preserve the old ways, were somewhat more knowledgeable.

"You should tell the vendor that, then," Simplot said, still holding the idol.

"PUT THAT AWAY!" Abela snapped.

"Right, sorry," Simplot tucked the statue back into a bag and sat at the table, "So, what's new?"

Abela took a breath, then started to speak.

"You know, I really think we need to change some names here," Simplot started talking again before Abela could get a word out, "I mean, 'Haven Command Complex' is such a pain to say. Can't we just call it Ops, like any other starbase? And this place…do you know how hard it's going to be to put 'Command Tower Principle Conference and Observatory Deck' in the subject line of a memo? How about 'The Sky Deck', or 'Observations' or something catchy? Any ideas? And what the heck is 'Spaceside' anyway?"

"It's the outside edge of the outer rim," Shurgroe piped up, "You know, with the docking bays, the shipyards, and the living quarters that look into space instead of into the city,"

"ENOUGH!" Abela shouted, startling everybody, "YOU WILL NOT RENAME ANY PART OF MY CITY!" she took several deep breaths, "I saw this place built, I oversaw the design and I will not have the work of those people, rest their souls, disrespected like this!"

"Wasn't the place built hundreds of years ago?" Wyer asked, trying to keep his tone as polite as possible.

"I spent hundreds of years going between being frozen in a stasis tube and watching my people destroy themselves and their culture," Abela snapped, rising from the table and resting both hands on the surface, "I gave an entire lifetime to see that one day this city would be a beacon of hope to the people of Matria Prime and a showcase to every piece of the old culture and lifestyle they lost! And I will NOT see that dream ripped apart by a group of incompetent Starfleet boobs!"

She started walking angrily towards the door.

"We will reconvene once YOU," she pointed at Simplot, "Have rested enough that you don't look like you're going to fall over. And WHERE THE HELL IS THAT STARFLEET SECURITY CHIEF? He's IGNORED every one of my CALLS!" She'd reached the turbolift and turned back, "You will find him and straighten this mess out!"

With that, she stepped into the turbolift. The doors hissed shut, leaving a speechless room.

"Well," Simplot swallowed, "I mean, that is…um."

She looked around, then swallowed again.

"Dismissed?" she shrugged.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"The situation is completely unacceptable," Colonel Abela said, facing a communications screen in her small office just off the command complex, "They're undisciplined, culturally ignorant and frankly I don't see how they're supposed to help us learn whatever it is we're supposed to learn in order to earn Starfleet commissions. Seeing them work, I'm not even sure I want a Starfleet commission!"

The screen was split between two people: Queen Anselia, leader of the Matrian Republic and Christopher Stafford, Captain of the USS Silverado and the man who had helped Abela, Anselia and several others find, activate and launch Haven some months ago. Silverado was at the moment undergoing a complete tear-down and rebuilt in Haven's #3 Shipyard, an effort intended to teach Matrian shipbuilders about Federation technology and construction methods.

"We must take some responsibility," Anselia said, lowering her eyes momentarily, "We had some…confusion with getting Haven staffed, and We fear that in Our haste We may have accepted officers that weren't quiet right for the role. However, it is too early to take action. Later on, if they do continue to truly prove incompetent, We can contact Starfleet and discuss-"

"Whoah, hey," Stafford cut in, "You're talking about replacing them already?"

"Only if absolutely necessary," Anselia said, "You must know that Colonel Abela is one of our most trusted military members,"

"Yeah, I know but…look, Simplot commanded a ship for two years. She might have some quirks, but she's seen things and done things that nobody in the Matrian Republic has done!"

"Like what?" Abela said, "I have her record…her ship spent two years running fool's errands inside your borders! And then it exploded!"

"You've got to give her a chance," Stafford insisted, "Look, I don't really like to talk about this, but when I took command of Silverado, we were generally regarded as a…what did you call them? A group of incompetent Starfleet boobs. Our first mission to Matria Prime was delayed weeks because our plumbing exploded…and all that happened because Jeffery disconnected the toilet in my ready room! We crashed half our ship into a planet-museum thingy, got stuck in an alternate universe and somehow managed to get the gravity field in the ship stuck on 'sideways' during a drive test."

Anselia was biting back a giggle.

"And you were accused of using date-rape drugs during the Silverado/Matria Prime Sports Day," she added.

"Which I wasn't, by the way," Stafford said, "That was more embarrassing for you guys than me,"

"All this aside" Abela cut them both off, "I would prefer if yourself or Dr. Wowryk came to take command until Starfleet can send us replacements."

"Not yet," Anselia said immediately.

"Yeah, I'm not comfortable with that idea either," Stafford said slowly.

"And why?" Abela demanded.

"Because we already agreed, for good reasons, that the Silverado crew is staying around Shipyard 3 and out of your hair until we can leave," Stafford said, "If we stick our fingers in your business now, it's just going to make it harder for you when we leave,"

"And this is our first effort to work with a new group of off-world officers," Anselia said, "We will not go whining back to Starfleet like a little boy who doesn't like his birthday gift. We, by which We mean you, will find a way to work with Captain Simplot and her team. That is our final word on it, for the time being."

"By the way," Stafford spoke up, "did you ever get the lake stocked? I'd love the chance to do some fish-"

Abela slammed one hand down on the panel, cutting off the signal.

This, she mused angrily, was not good.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Aboard the Roadrunner, Agent Boxer sat in the cramped dining hall. The dining hall was located on Deck 2 with a pair of small windows looking out at the stars as they streaked by. The ship was on course towards Federation space at warp 6, her sensors searching for a suitable planet to set down on to make repairs. Boxer picket at his grrrennttthhh rump, the bloody haunch of meat just never tasted the same when it came out of a replicator.

"Lt. Boxer? I was told to meet you here?"

Boxer had smelled the other crewmember the second he'd approached the table. Human, male and nervous.

Boxer glanced down at his padd.

"Crewman Billings, is it?" he asked, "Sit."

The tall, gangly human across from Boxer. Boxer took a sip from his mug of gravy then looked Billings carefully in the eye.

"Do you know why you're here, Crewman?" he asked.

"Um, you're the new Security Chief, and you want to meet everybody," Billings replied.

Good. That's exactly the story Boxer had told Virgii when he arranged for these crew interviews.

"When did you first learn of the Quantum Slipstream project?" Boxer asked.

"Um...um...not until after I was assigned to the Roadrunner. I'm just a life-support technician!" Billings said, "I don't know anything about the drive!"

"And how long have you known Dr. Strobnick?"

"Who?"

Boxer dropped his padd.

"The scientist responsible for the Roadrunner Project," Boxer said.

"Oh. The dark guy who goes invisible. Don't know much about him."

Boxer restrained a growl. Billings was either an idiot, or was trying to pretend to be one. Next!

"That is all," Boxer dismissed the crewman. On to the next possible saboteur.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

A few tables away, Agent Laarthi was seated with Lt. Mytim. The two females were just finishing up their meals; Mytim a chicken caeser salad and Laarthi an assortment of sashimi.

"That dog has no idea what he's doing," Laarthi grumbled to herself.

"Hmmm?" Mytim looked over to where Boxer was being joined by yet another in the string of crewmembers being interviewed. "He's having a chat with the crew. Standard procedure."

"Yes, but he's...oh, nevermind!" How could Laarthi describe her frustration without blowing her cover? "I guess I'm just stressed over this Chief Engineer thing. I don't know anything about half of the technologies on this ship,"

"Neither do the rest of us. Don't worry, Strobnick will take care of most of it," Mytim replied.

"Hmmm," Laarthi's eyes narrowed as she continued watching Boxer.

"I'm surprised you're not more worried about our situation," Mytime said,

"Our...oh yes," Laarthi put a depressed look on her face, "It could be worse. We're only eight or nine years from the Federation, and we'll probably have the QS drive repaired long before then,"

"Maybe," Mytim said, staring at her plate, "We haven't even had the chance to look around this part of space. Voyager was attacked by the Kazon in less than a day. Aerostar was attacked by the Flarn just as quickly. Every ship that's been stranded far away from home has either barely survived hostile aliens, or has never been heard from again. And we're in a pretty small ship,"

Laarthi thought about the fried nano-fabrication unit and felt a twinge of guilt.

"We're the only ship that's been thrown far from home AND been equipped with an advanced drive system," she reminded Mytim, "And besides...where the hell is that dog going NOW?"

Mytim looked surprised as Laarthi glared at Boxer, who had packed up his padds and was leaving the dining hall.

"Never mind," Mytim muttered, gathering her dishes and getting up to leave, "I guess I'll just wait until Virjii sticks somebody with the counsellor's job,"

"With what's happened so far, you'd probably get stuck with it," Laarthi said, still eying Boxer and completely missing Mytim's cues.

"I need a hot soak," Mytim said, walking away.

"Enjoy,"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Back on Haven, Simplot had gathered Shurgroe, Annerson and Wyer in her apartment. She'd chosen to live in one of the apartment buildings in Downtown Haven, close to the Command Tower and the Transit Hub. Her unit was positioned in such a way that she could see the city and the stars outside the dome towards the one side of her broad windows and several other downtown buildings out the other. She hadn't actually decorated yet, so the suite still contained only the standard furniture all the units seemed to be equipped with: A bluish couch, a slate-surfaced coffee table and a couple of random reproductions of Old Matrian artwork.

"We really messed up with Colonel Abela," Simplot said, pouring glasses of bluish Matrian wine she'd bought on her shopping trip, managing to casually pour a few drops of Shurgroe's medication in his glass, "I mean, we REALLY messed up. All those lessons they taught us at the Academy about learning about a culture before you start dealing with it? Right out the window,"

"Half of her own people didn't know about the statue," Annerson rolled her eyes, "She's just a bitch,"

"Maybe," Simplot said, "But we have to work with her for the next few years. More than that, we're supposed to be teaching her about how Starfleet does things. So we need to fix this,"

"Get a better crew out?" Wyer suggested, "I mean, no offense to you, but I've looked over the Stallion's mission reports. You're not exactly the cream of the crop,"

Simplot looked offended. Shurgroe and Annerson giggled.

"Yeah, we know," Annerson said, "But we got the job done,"

"M-most of the time," Shurgroe stuttered.

"Drink your wine, Josh," Simplot said absently, "You'll feel better,"

"Has anybody asked yet why Abela's security man runs around in a loincloth?" Wyer asked suddenly, "Or for that matter, why is she in command if most of her career took place two hundred years ago? Do you not get the sense that perhaps the Matrian officers we've been given are less than adequate?"

"Haven wouldn't be here without her," Shurgroe said, his eyes glassing over as he set down his empty wine glass, "According to her file she supervised its construction, she hid it, she watched her people fall into a century of war and she made sure that the people who launched Haven weren't going to use it for something stupid,"

"But I'M the one in command," Simplot said firmly, her attention returning to the matter at hand, "Which means SHE doesn't storm out of a meeting, I storm out of the meeting!"

"Go tell her that," Annerson suggested.

"You're right," Simplot said, setting down her glass and rising to her feet, "I'm going to march to that elevator, ride down to ground level, walk all the way to the Transit Hub, wait for a train, ride to the other side of downtown, go all the way up to her suite and demand that she show me the respect I deserve!"

By the time she finished the sentence Simplot was already at her front door. She suddenly spun around.

"Actually, that sounds like too much work. Besides, I have a better idea. Who knows how to get into the Old Matrian cultural database?"

Nobody said anything.

"Then we're going to figure something out," Simplot said firmly, "Something classy...dignified. Something that even Abela can't stick her nose up at!"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"That was an absolute fiasco," Colonel Abela said. She'd gathered Lt. Fissett and Maj. Jakerd in the Principle Conference & Observatory Deck's conference room. To be known from this point forward as 'the conference room', unless otherwise indicated.

"Don't look at me," Fissett said, raising both hands over her head, "I was at the meeting on time! I didn't say anything,"

"And I hate it when people fight," Jakerd cringed.

"I know," Abela said, maintaining her dignity, "And I'll admit that perhaps I overreacted a bit. That's why we're going to extend the olive branch to the Starfleeters. We're going to show them that we're willing to work with them...at least until everybody is convinced that we can take care of our territory by ourselves,"

"We can't" Fissett pointed out quietly, "The Qu'Eh invasion proved that,"

"Which is why Starfleet is here," Abela admitted, "But we have to look at the big picture. Five, ten years down the road and Haven will be a major shipyard and Federation stronghold in this sector. And once we have our own people trained and enough ships to defend our space, we can make sure it's a Matrian officer that runs this place and Matrians serving on Starfleet ships stationed in this sector. The same has happened to dozens of Federation worlds, and I must admit, makes its member worlds all the stronger. But until then, we need them,"

"So what are we doing?" Jakerd asked.

Abela checked her chrono, then gestured at the doors. After a moment they rolled open.

"I'd like you to meet my husband, Craigan," Anselia said, introducing the slim, blond Matrian male that walked in from the turbolift, "Craigan spent several weeks working with Starfleeters, and he'll be helping us plan an event to help us bond." Abela's eyes narrowed, "What we require now is a plan. A carefully thought out plan that will ensure our success!"

"Based on the last Starfleeter's I worked with, we need something messy," Craigan said, "Something with a lot of drink, a lot of loud music and as little pomp and ceremony as possible."

"The sacrifices we make in the line of duty," Fissett sighed.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Agent Laarthi carefully concealed herself next to the Jefferies tube hatch on Deck 3, just within view of Boxer's quarters. She'd followed his progress by computer after he'd left the mess, though he'd just gone to the cramped workout room before returning to his tiny cabin. She'd expected him to do something stupid once he was made Security Chief, but really...interviewing the whole crew right after a barely explained 'equipment malfunction'? He may as well get on the comm-net and announce that he was looking for a saboteur. Now he'd made himself a giant target, and Laarthi was convinced that the real saboteur would be showing up anytime now to make sure Boxer was silenced - permanently.

Half an hour passed, and there was still no sign of the saboteur. Fourty-five minutes, an hour. An hour and a half. Two hours.

As her chrono approached midnight, Laarthi began to consider that maybe the saboteur wasn't going to be killing Boxer that night. She was getting ready to leave an observation device instead when she heard a slight creak in the ceiling above her.

The ventilation ducts! Of course! The saboteur was part of a scheme to seal a Federation prototype ship, not a run-of-the mill crook. He wouldn't do anything obvious like walk up to Boxer's door and shoot him. But gassing him, or flooding his room with radiation? That sounded a bit more like it.

Laarthi briefly toyed with the idea of just letting Boxer get himself killed. One less stinky mutt in the universe and all that. But...then she'd be stuck hunting the saboteur on her own. And she had to admit that letting her partner get killed on their first assignment would look REALLY bad on her performance review.

With that little tidbit, she bolted for Boxer's door and slammed in the override code that would bypass his door lock. The doors hissed open and she jumped in-

-only to bounce off a force-field that sprang up two feet into the room! The lights came on full and Boxer spring up from his bed, a control unit in one hand.

"NOW I'VE GOT YOU!" he snarled, wrapping his other hand around his phaser and pointing it right at Laarthi's head.

Laarthi turned to bolt back out of the room, but another force-field had sprang up across the doorway.

"I'm going to be killed by somebody who still enjoys public urination," she groaned, offering a quick mental prayer that her soul would be taken to the Celestial Aviary, to spend eternity pouncing on seagulls and other fowl deserving of eternal punishment.

"You stupid...of all the...WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?" Boxer demanded angrily.

"I'm here to save you!" Laarthi snapped.

Boxer cocked his head, one ear flopping forward while the other stayed perked up.

"Really?"

"Really! Why am I in a cage?"

"Because I was trying to trap the saboteur!" Boxer exclaimed, "Why else would I go around interviewing people and making a target out of myself!"

"Because you're the idiot!"

"Says the cat stuck in a cage!" Boxer taunted.

"Don't you..." Laarthi cocked her head, "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Boxer's ears perked up, "You mean that hissing sound, like somebody's flooding the room with...with..."

"GAS!" Laarthi shouted, "Turn off the force-field!"

"The...right!" Boxer grabbed at his control unit and started tapping. Nothing happened.

"Boxer, anytime now!" Laarthi snapped, still inside the cage.

"My security code isn't working!" Boxer said, his words becoming slurred, "It's not...it's not..."

He started slumping over. As he did, the vent cover near the bed clattered to the floor and a slim figure in an environmental mask emerged.

"Two for the price of one," the figure said, pulling a Starfleet phaser out of a hip holster.

Laarthi reached for her own weapon, only to realize that she couldn't attack the saboteur as long as the force-field was up. And vice versa. Boxer, however, was unprotected.

"What do you want?" Laarthi demanded.

"This ship," the figure replied simply, "And once you and your pup are out of my way, it will be so much easier,"

"So you poison us?" Laarthi was again grateful for the force-field, though if the gas in the room were fatal Boxer was probably dead or dying. There had to be some way to get at her! "The quantum slipstream drive is worthless without the stabilizer thing," she tried, "Why bother?"

"Don't bother trying to understand," the figure shook her head. She nudged Boxer with one toe, then rapped a knuckle impatiently against the window, "Now shut up long enough for me to shut down that field and kill you,"

Laarthi was staring at the window. Too bad the Roadrunner wasn't an old ground vehicle. Then she could just roll down the window and hope the saboteur would blow out like an annoying bug. On the other hand, she was Chief Engineer now...

"Computer, reduce power to port structural integrity field, Deck 2, Cabin 3 by 50%, authorization Laarthi encreti barla bextra," she snapped.

The hull immediately began creaking, the strains of faster-than-light travel too great for mere metal to withstand. The saboteur's head snapped around, seeing immediately what Laarthi had done.

"Laarthi to Bridge!" she snapped, "Beam Boxer and I out of his quarters, NOW!"

"You bi-" the saboteur started. The last thing Laarthi saw as the beam took her was the window breaking free of its mounting as the air rushed out of the cabin.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Laarthi and Boxer materialized on the Roadrunner's tiny transporter padd. Laarthi immediately turned to her partner, relieved to see he was still breathing. In fact, he was already stirring. Whatever that mix was, it was clearly intended to knock Boxer out until the saboteur could do who-knows-what to him.

"I trust you have an explanation for why we had to beam you out of a cabin that breached to space because of a computer override?" Lt. Cmdr. Virgii asked calmly from behind the control console.

"My mistake," Laarthi said quickly, "The hull was making weird noises, so I went to increase power, but I got the command mangled,"

"You were both nearly killed," Virgii said, "Hardly an auspicious start to your term as Chief Engineer." Boxer was rolling over now.

"And I apologize," Laarthi said. Mytim's words from before suddenly came to her, "It's just that...we're so far from home. I was having a hard time concentrating."

"Yes, well," Virgii sighed, "Not much we can do about that now, what? So why don't you drag Lt. Boxer to some temporary quarters. We'll patch up his window as soon as we find a suitable planet to set down on,"

"Where am I?" Boxer slurred, "Did we get him?"

"Shut up, you mutt," Laarthi muttered as Virgii stepped briskly out the room.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"I swear this is the right address," Shurgroe said, eyeing a padd and looking at the buildings around him, "Can anybody see 364 Ring Road? Or whatever Ring Road translates to in Matrian?"

"This city needs better maps," Annerson said.

"Agreed," Wyer nodded. "Oh. Wait. That would be my job then, wouldn't it?"

"Way to go, DoDO," Shurgroe cracked.

"Mind your manners, DoS!" Wyer shot back.

Annerson raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"Department of Dome Operations," Shurgroe pointed at Wyer.

"Department of Shipbuilding," Wyer pointed back at Shurgroe.

"What does that make me?" Annerson asked.

"Department of Hospitals? DoH?" Shurgroe suggested.

"Department of Medical Practitioners?" DoMP?" Wyer wondered.

"Never mind," Annerson shook her head, "Now, about that address?"

They had just stepped off the tram, which had taken them out from the Transit Hub, over the lake and partway to the Outer Rim before turning off onto the ring-shaped track that circled through the Suburbs. The buildings running along the track were shorter and smaller than the towers that made up much of Haven's skyline, almost like a commercial shopping district, or an area where apartments and condos gave way to larger single homes. Whatever the case, they'd input their destination into the tram and this was the neighbourhood they'd been dumped off in.

"I think we have to get a block closer to the lake," Simplot spoke up, "The place we're using is supposed to be a rooftop facility."

The found a cross street and started walking. Sure enough, one of the buildings running along the next circular street inward had the address they wanted. The building had three curving towers with outward facing windows surrounding a central column, atop which was perched another, pod-shaped tower. The windows were dark, as the tower was in a deserted part of the city, but Wyer had already re-routed power back into the area. Finding their way in, they rode an elevator to the top floor.

"Now, the caterers are coming up from Matria Prime in two hours," Simplot said, "And we managed to talk some of the officers from the shipyard into serving as waiters. We've got somebody from that Franches jungle security tribe thingy coming to brief us on Old Matrian etiquette. So I think we have our bases covered, right?"

"As long as the room works," Annerson said, "I still don't see why we couldn't use the principle dining hall in the Command Tower."

"Because then Abela would find out, and the whole surprise would be ruined," Simplot said, "We screwed up pretty badly today,"

"By 'we' I assume you mean 'you'," Wyer said dryly.

"Whatever. And I want this night to be perfect! We'll wine and dine with Abela's people. No booze, no dancing, no silliness. Nothing but pomp and circumstance!"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Meanwhile, two towers over…

"360 Ring Road," Abela nodded, glancing at the map screen of her Traveller padd. The tower she was facing consisted of several slightly bulging segments stacked one over the other and capped with a tapering windowed cone.

"You're sure the Starfleeters aren't going to show up in this part of the city and spoil the surprise?" Jakerd asked.

"Quite sure," Abela nodded, "I'd be surprised if they even know how to find their way out here." She tapped her access code into the entry panel of the deserted building, then led Fissett and Jakerd to the elevators.

"When does the DJ get here?" Fissett asked Jakerd.

"We have a Starfleeter coming in from the shipyard to handle that," Jakerd answered, "and I know a Matrian who's applied for a bar license next to one of the Spaceside hanger bays. He handles the drinks tonight, I talk to you about accelerating his application,"

"Done," Abela waved her hand. The elevator doors opened to reveal a huge, multi-level ballroom. The windowed walls arced high above their heads, with balconies and slender stairways surrounding the open central space of the room. Banks of special lighting and sound equipment were discretely built into the lower balcony surfaces.

"Considering the rentals we'll be able to charge on this place when the city opens, it seems a shame to waste in on Starfleet dancing," Abela sighed.

"I hope nobody pukes on the rug," Fissett said, "I'm not cleaning it up,"

"Don't be silly, dear," Abela waved her hand, "Of course you are,"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Captain Simplot stood at the center of carefully controlled chaos. She wasn't controlling any of it, nor was she causing any of it. But it was sort of exciting to watch as the team of Matrian chefs slaved under their master to create that night's menu. Shurgroe and Wyer were examining the elaborate dining room a few levels up, on the roof of the building. The view was fantastic, the table set with what they assumed was expensive Matrian china. Of course, they weren't used to seeing cutlery hung from a rack in front of the dinner plate, but whatever.

"You can't cook to save your life!" the female chef was screaming at a cringing male, "You call this sautéed eel? It's still squirming! I would not serve this to my dog!"

"Yes, chef!" the sous-chef whimpered. The master chef spun around to where another sous-chef was pulling a cut of meat out of a freezer.

"Keep that out of sight until it's cooked!" she snapped.

"Yes, chef!"

"It's like SNAP in here," Annerson muttered as she joined Simplot, referring to Starfleet's Boot-Camp like New Arrivals Program.

"Everything will be perfect," Simplot said firmly, "right, Master Chef?"

"YES MA'AM!" the chef bellowed.

"If you say so," Annerson said, frowning as she watched another sous-chef trying to wrestle a live octopus into a pot, "Myself, I'm not feeling so big on the seafood tonight,"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"What about this one?" Fissett asked, sniffing at another bottle.

"That's called Jamaican Rum," ex-Agent Jural, formerly of Matrian Intelligence and now a simple merchant, replied. Fissett sipped the amber liquid, then gasped.

"Yuck! And the humans drink this stuff?"

"You think that's bad, try this one," Jural handed her a bottle of Canadian Whiskey.

"EEEIIIIIIEEEEEE!" Fissett gasped, one hand going to her throat.

"Or this Tequila stuff…oh crap. Where did my lemons go?"

"Mr. Jural," Abela was staring at a yellow wedge, a look of disgust on her face, "This is an appetizer?"

"Um, no,"

"Good," Abela flung the lemon into a waste receptacle, "Now mix me something strong and Matrian. And where's Craigan? I need to know how to dance like a human!"

"A drunk human," Fissett giggled.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"I specifically said 'cocktails at 1830h," Captain Simplot said, eying her wrist chrono, "Where are those Matrians? We sent out the invitations, right?"

"We did, madam," one of the caterers said, "But given the short notice, there really wasn't time for an RSVP,"

"And they actually said '1830 egu meh sderins', which means 'cocktails at 1830' in Matrian," Wyer said helpfully.

"That's 'Captain', and thanks," Simplot fumed.

The rooftop dining area was dimly lit by lighting units set into the gardens ringing the edge of the roof and the stars shining through the dome overhead. The table was set and the waiters were standing by to begin beverage service. But so far only Simplot and her people were there, their white dress uniforms in stark contrast to the brilliant green tablecloth that was customary at Old Matrian dining events. The smell of seafood was heavy in the air and a band of Matrian Defence Force personnel were providing chamber music. All in all, it should have been a great atmosphere for mingling. Except half the guests were missing.

"Simplot to Ops, er, Haven Command Complex," Simplot tapped her badge.

"Command complex, Lieutenant Baarthal speaking, ma'am,"

"Where's Colonel Abela?"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Where are those Starfleeters?" Abela demanded, slamming her scotch on the rocks onto a nearby table and wobbling slightly, "I sent the invitations in four different Federation languages, just to be sure they didn't get mixed up!"

"Maybe I should have sent my team to bring them," Franches burped, a bottle of Alexander Keith's Canadian beer in one hand, "Again."

"Whhheeeee!" Fissett giggles as she ran through the room, holding her arms out like wings, "I'm flying!"

"If Simplot and her people don't show up soon, we're going poison ourselves with this swill. And if it doesn't kill us, that God-awful music will!" Abela fumed. She tapped her Matrian comm-badge, a round disc basically shaped like a tiny version of Haven. "Command Complex! Where's Captain Simplot?"

"Lieutenant Baarthal here, please hold…oh. Actually, I have her on the other line, wondering where you are,"

"Tell her to meet me in the lobby of 360 Ring Road, if she can find it!" Abela snapped.

"Uh, she wants you to meet her in the lobby of 364 Ring Road," Baarthal gulped.

Abela stalked towards the nearest band of windows and squinted at the roof of a nearby tower. Were those…people she could see? And a jazz band?

"You've got to be kidding me," Abela muttered, one hand on her forehead.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Simplot was stalking down Ring Road when she ran into Abela.

"Didn't you get our invitations?" Simplot asked somewhat angrily. She was trying hard to control herself, she really was. After all that work she'd gone to!

"No more than you got ours, I suppose," Abela crossed her arms, a bit chilly in the fresh evening air, "Just tell me one thing…what kind of event did you plan to get our people 'bonding'? I assume that's what this is about, as I had the same idea,"

"Really?" Simplot was taken aback, "I…we. Well, we got one of Franches' jungle people to brief us on Old Matrian formal dining, hired some caterers from the planet, got setup in the…"

As she went on, Abela softened. This human had actually researched not only Matrian customs, but Old Matrian customs, from before the war? From her time?

"We had one of our people who had worked with the Silverado crew help us plan a party," Abela interrupted Simplot as she went on about all the live seafood.

"Really?" Simplot was taken aback, "A party? You mean, you actually have fun once in a while? And that's why that guy over there is riding a unicycle?"

Abela turned just in time to see Lt. Franches pedal a wobbling unicycle into a streetlight and tumble to the ground. She turned away before his loincloth could finish its upward path.

"It's been a long time," Abela gave a smile, "And I would love to dine in Old Matrian style tonight. It's also been…a very long time."

"And I could go for a party after a boring formal dinner. Um, I mean…after dinner,"

Abela let it slide. The two officers stood for a moment.

"I'll get my people over to 364," Abela said. "And tell the DJ to be ready for us in two hours,"

"Hour and a half," Simplot said.

"Deal,"

They turned and went their separate ways, leaving Franches snoring in the street. High above them, the stars slowly shifted as Haven continued gliding back toward Matria Prime.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

The next morning aboard the Roadrunner, Lt. Boxer rolled over and cracked his eyes open. He felt absolutely terrible; sore, tired, his head was fuzzy and his back was killing him. Apparently from sleeping on the floor.

"Good morning," Lt. Laarthi said, emerging from under a standard issue blanket. She was on the bunk in her quarters while Boxer was on the floor.

"Why am I in your quarters?" Boxer asked.

"Because we vented yours to space killing the saboteur," Laarthi said, "And because there aren't any free quarters on the ship,"

"Oh. Um, thanks for letting me stay over?"

"It was only last night! Virgii gets you tonight!" Laarthi said sharply.

"Whatever. I'm just glad the whole sabotage thing is over," Boxer stretched his arms forwards, pressing his palms against the floor, "Now we can focus on getting home sometime in the next few weeks instead of the next few years,"

"Yes, I'm supposed to be helping with the nano-fabrication unit repairs today," Laarthi said.

Boxer stood. The two of them looked at each other for a moment.

"Aren't you at least going to admit that I'm not as dumb as you thought I was?" Boxer asked.

"I admit no such thing," Laarthi said firmly. She paused. "But…perhaps you won't be as hard to work with as I thought,"

"OK then,"

"Fine!"

"Fine! I'm going for breakfast."

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

A deck up and a few cabins over, Commander Penelope O'Reilly double checked the charge on her personal cloaking field. It had taken a lot of arguing to get Section 31 to let her use it on this assignment, but the effort was clearly worth it. Ditto for the one-shot personal transporter she'd used to escape Lt. Boxer's quarters right before they were vented to space. But it had turned out well after all…the mutt and the mangy feline both thought she was dead. And the rest of the crew didn't suspect a thing.

She didn't fully understand why Section 31 wanted the Roadrunner in Orion hands, but that didn't matter. She'd do her duty, and make sure none of the Roadrunner's crew made it back to Federation space without taking a minor…detour…first.


	3. 3 - Your Compliments

Star Traks: Halfway to Haven 1.3 – "Your Compliments"

Acting Captain's Log, Stardate 59365.7:

"It's been over a week now since the Roadrunner was stranded in this region of space. We've continued travelling back towards the Federation while scanning for a habitable planet where we can put down and make repairs. Or even better, a friendly civilization with a spare docking bay and a few tons worth of spare parts."

"Crew morale is low, if you can really call the 26 people on this ship a crew. I of course am unaffected, but there does seem to be a lot of…unusual behaviour taking place. In an effort to dispel this, Dr. Strobnik and I have prepared an educational video that we are certain will be helpful,"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Oh boy!" Lt. Rex Boxer said happily, "We get to watch a movie? I LOVE MOVIES!"

"The dog is easily amused," Lt. Laarthi said to Lt Mytim, who was only now grasping that sitting between the two aliens wasn't a smart move.

"What I don't understand," Mytim said, hoping to change the subject, "Is why they had to make their own instructional video from scratch. They could have just briefed us. Or better yet, use one of the pre-prepared videos in our compute library,"

"Starfleet made videos just for ships trapped in space?" Laarthi asked, curious.

"Yes. One by the crew of the USS Voyager entitled 'Deep Voyages: The Delta Quadrant," Mytim replied.

"That sounds boring and contrived," Laarthi said.

"It was," Mytim agreed, picking dog hair off her uniform and flicking it back in Boxer's general direction, "Exceptionally. There's also the video done by the crew of the USS Aerostar entitled, 'AHH, We're All Going to Die!'."

"Funny name," Boxer remarked.

"I hear the video itself is hilarious…though entirely inappropriate," Mytim replied.

"Let's watch it later! Can we? Can we? Please?"

At that moment the lights went down and an image of Lt. Cmdr Virgii and Dr. Strobnick appeared on the screen near the front of the Roadrunner's cramped dining hall.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Virgii said, holding himself perfectly straight, one hand held in front of his chest, ready to enunciate any key points he felt needed enunciating hand-waving, "I know our situation seems grim, nay, nearly hopeless. But I've been in this situation before, and let me tell you, it could be far, far worse,"

"Is this supposed to cheer us up?" somebody behind Mytim wondered.

"He's been in this situation before?" Boxer wondered.

"Lt. Cmdr Virgii was an Ensign aboard the USS Aerostar," Laarthi cut in, leaning over Mytim, who cringed away from the cat hairs that immediately started falling on her uniform, "According to his personal file, he prefers not to admit it. He just says he's been lost in space before, then hopes people assume he means Voyager,"

"Wasn't the Aerostar the ship that was nearly destroyed?" Boxer asked. He was a bit behind on the briefing files Starfleet Intelligence had given Laarthi and himself prior to departing. "The ship that lost half its crew? The ship that accidentally lured the Borg into destroying a whole civilization?"

"Now you see why he doesn't like to talk about it," Laarthi nodded, easing back into her seat.

"-most important thing," Virgii was saying, "is strong leadership! A ship in our situation needs somebody who can make the hard choices! Who can make a quick decision! It was a lack of that firm, decisiveness that hurt us so badly on the Ae…er, the last time this happened!"

Boxer's tongue was hanging out, and his head began dropping.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Twenty minutes later…

"And so," Dr. Strobnick was saying, "By harvesting Jovian planets with the Bussard collectors, we expect to extend our deuterium supply almost indefinitely. Anti-deuterium of course remains an issue. Can anybody recall the quantum transformation steps for antimatter generation?"

"ZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzz….."

"He's going to drool on me!" Mytim squeaked, trying to move as far away from Boxer as she could.

"Better you than me," Laarthi didn't even look over, instead casting her eyes over the Roadrunner's crew and trying to evaluate who might be worth speaking to later.

"Bridge to Lt. Cmdr Virgii," the comm sounded.

"Thank God," someone muttered.

"This is Captain Virgii," Virgii replied, pausing the video, "We've already discussed proper naval tradition, have we not?"

"We're picking up signs of an advanced civilization in one of the star systems ahead," the duty officer reported, ignoring Virgii's remark, "We've already been targeted with subspace email spam, so they're probably equivalent to mid- or late- 23rd Century Earth."

"Alter course to investigate," Virgii said, "I'll be up as soon as I finish this briefing. Virgii out."

He returned his attention to the dining hall, only to find it completely empty.

"Ingrates," he muttered.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

With the briefing over, Lt. Laarthi returned to her new role as the Roadrunner's Chief Engineer. She stepped into Main Engineering, barely more than a small room containing the warp core, power conduits and several large and complicated-looking consoles. Laarthi ignored the blinking panels and instead moved to the space beneath the glowing power transfer conduits. In the empty space formed between the conduits and the warp core, Laarthi had setup a low, broad planter-box filled with dirt. Inside, several tiny sprouts were already taking form.

"Yes!" she said happily, "Grow, my pretties! Grow!"

Lt. Laarthi was an avid nature-lover. At her last posting, she'd completely taken over the arboretum, slaving painstakingly over every tree, bush and flower, to the point where other crewmembers had started avoiding the place, just so they wouldn't have to listen to a half-hour recitation on why exactly the orchids were blooming brighter than the tulips. The Roadrunner was too small for an arboretum, but dammit, she was going to do whatever she could!

"Lt. Laarthi, this is Ensign Riks. Um, we've got some weird smells on Deck 3 that I thought I should report,"

Laarthi tapped her comm-badge.

"This is engineering, not maintenance," she said, "call somebody with a wet-vac! Laarthi out."

She'd barely had time to drip nutrients from an eyedropper onto a sprouting aloe vera when the comm went off again, startling her enough to dump five times the recommended dosage on the tiny sprout.

"Uhh, Lt. Laarthi, on ships this size engineering IS maintenance," Ensign Riks' voice came back.

"Fine! I'm on my way!" Laarthi hissed.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Stalking down the short corridor, Laarthi fumed over the indignity of her position. She was an agent with Starfleet Intelligence, not a lowly grease monkey! Virgii was the engineer of the group, if anybody should be doing her job, it should be him! What's more, with her agent experience, she'd be far better suited to a command role than that uptight Brit!

The second she stepped onto Deck 3, she picked up the smell. It was pungent, sort of musty. In fact, it smelled exactly like dog!

"BOXER!" she shouted, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

No reply.

The smell was stronger ahead. Laarthi stalked towards the tiny open maintenance area that had been turned into Boxer's temporary quarters. Sure enough, she found the Sheppian standing next to the workbench he'd turned into a bed, carefully spraying the corridor wall with an old-fashioned squirt bottle.

"Over here is my space," he muttered to himself, spraying a foot further up the corridor, "Right to about…here. And up here."

Laarthi marched up and smacked the bottle out of his hands.

"STOP IT!" she snapped. She tried to further articulate her distaste, but found her words lacking. "Just…just…DON'T DO THAT!"

"But this is my space," Boxer said, looking back at her, confused, "I don't mind if other people go through it, but until my quarters are fixed it's my space,"

"That's disgusting!" Laarthi wrinkled her nose.

"It's just a synthetic mix from the replicator," Boxer said, retrieving the bottle, "All hygienic and Starfleet approved and all,"

"Oh really," Laarthi's tail swished, accidentally brushing against the wall. Boxer gulped, then immediately moved over and sprayed that section again.

Laarthi's eyes narrowed.

"If you'll excuse me," she said coldly.

Two could play at this game…

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

The Roadrunner glided through space, her hull lit by the blazing disc of Wuyit, the star around which her destination orbited. The ship was small, only four decks, and barely had room for her crew of 26 people. The ship itself was unmistakable Federation, with a sleek, saucer-shaped main hull and twin warp nacelles. What made it unusual was the ring-nacelle that surrounded the aft quarter of the ship. Well, it mostly surrounded it; the lower third of the nacelle was missing due to a close encounter of the rocky moon kind.

The planet being approached, Wuyit IV, showed all the normal signs of being home to a warp-capable civilization. Small ships scurried around the solar system, intent on mining, transporting passengers or hauling cargo between a number of bases, extra-terrestrial (wuyestrial?) settlements and even a couple of M-class moons. A good-sized space station orbited the equator, and a network of communications and defensive satellites were evident.

"Open hailing frequencies," Lt. Cmdr Virgii ordered from the center seat of the Roadrunner's cramped bridge/cockpit.

Nothing happened.

Sitting ram-rod straight in his seat, Virgii looked around the bridge. Lt. Boxer was seated at the small tactical station, his eyes on the sensors and smelling like…like…what was that smell? Lt. Mytim was seated at the science console, likewise eyeing her sensors as she analyzed this unknown star system. Dr. Strobnick was at the engineering station, trying to explain over a comm-link just how Lt. Laarthi was supposed to reduce emissions from the quantum slipstream core. An ensign, one of the Roadrunner's original crew, was seated at the helm. Outside the bridge windows, several menacing looking ships were starting to take an interest in the small Starfleet ship.

"Well? Isn't one of you lot going to follow my orders?" Virgii demanded.

"I'm not controlling communications," Mytim said immediately.

"Me neither," Boxer said, "Oh, there's some new ships coming to see us!" His tongue lolled out of his mouth, "I wonder what they smell like?"

Dr. Strobnick didn't even look up from his console.

"Very well, I'll handle it myself," Virgii said. He started tapping at the compact control panel attached to the side of his chair. After a moment of beeps and bloops, the compact replicator at the rear of the bridge hummed to life, producing a café latte. A micro-tractor beam in the bridge ceiling hummed to life, plucking the drink from the replicator slot and depositing it neatly in the cup-holder attached to the command chair.

"Who would like to wager that he can't repeat that little trick?" Mytim asked, still not looking up.

"Uh, those ships are baring their teeth…I mean, they've armed weapons," Boxer said.

Virgii continued tapping at his console. This time, three large, rubbery wipers popped out of hidden slots outside each of the bridge windows and began briskly wiping.

"WILL SOMEBODY JUST DO IT FOR HIM BEFORE HE LAUNCHES A TORPEDO AND GETS US ALL KILLED?" Strobnick barked, rising to his feet, "And, speaking of, I'll be in engineering trying to show a certain student how a quantum core works!"

As the lights went down and disco music started to play, Mytim turned to Virgii.

"Shall I do it for you?" she asked.

"No, I've got WHOAH!"

Virgii cried out in surprise as he found the 'Klingon Massage' button on the chair and was promptly catapulted to the floor.

"Please do," he sighed.

"This is Lt. Mytim of the Federation starship Roadrunner," Mytim said, speaking professionally to her console, "We come in…oh drat…Virgii! You made me chip a nail! I am SO going to make you pay for that!"

"They're locking weapons on us!" Boxer yipped.

"Give me that!" Virgii said, pushing Mytim aside and sitting at her seat, "This is Captain Virgii of the Roadrunner. We're on a peaceful mission of exploration, and are simply looking for a friendly harbour where we can conduct some minor repairs."

"But we can still defend ourselves!" Boxer added from the back of the bridge.

Virgii closed his eyes and counted to five.

"We request permission to dock at your facilities, or the use of a landing zone on your planet," Virgii continued.

The screen in front of him flickered, then a feathered alien appeared. His body was the standard bipedal form, however his arms were closer to wings. His beaked face was somewhat misleading, as he had a fairly normal mouth, complete with teeth. His nose, however, was more along the lines of Toucan Sam than anything else.

"I am Captain T't't't of the Wuyan orbital defence force," the feathered alien said, "You know, if you'd just answered our hails five minutes ago, we could have saved a lot of fuss,"

Virgii glanced briefly around the bridge. Boxer was baring his teeth at the image of the bird-man, Mytim was carefully filing the nail on her index finger and the helmsman was sinking lower into his seat, as if to pretend he didn't exist.

"I will most certainly keep that under advisement, Captain," Virgii said, trying to smile pleasantly.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

The Roadrunner was given permission to dock at Obitus, the Wuyan central space station. Virgii tried not to feel claustrophobic as they entered the station; the open space doors passing the bridge windows as the Roadrunner eased in. Boxer started whimpering.

"This is not good," he said, "We're inside. It's harder to get out when you're inside. Harder to escape!"

"They're perfectly friendly," Virgii waved his hand, "If they wanted us unable to run, they would have disabled our engines, or something,"

"I'm posting guards by the airlocks!" Boxer said, "And somebody will be on duty on the bridge security station at all times! And...and…I want to chase the duckies!"

"Somebody doesn't react well to pressure," Mytim commented, carefully re-applying her mascara.

The bridge doors opened and Dr. Strobnick returned.

"We've masked emissions from the QS core," he said, "To anybody scanning us, we should look like an ordinary, warp-only ship,"

"And why would you do that?" Virgii asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" Strobnick gestured at the interior of the alien spacedock that now surrounded the ship, "We're clearly decades ahead of them in advanced propulsion research. If they knew that, they might try to steal it?"

"You are being altogether too paranoid," Virgii shook his head, "Have you not studied the adventures of Voyager or Aer…or that other ship? If they wanted us dead, they either would have tried to blow us up immediately, or right after we did something hostile and stupid,"

As he said that last word he looked around the bridge again. Mytim had opened a purse sitting next to her station and was comparing two different sizes of bra-pads while Boxer had pulled out a soup-bone and was worrying away at it with his teeth. The doors hissed open again and Lt. Laarthi stalked in.

"WHO LEFT THIS BALL OF YARN HANGING OUTSIDE MY QUARTERS?" she demanded, "That is NOT funny!"

"I stand corrected, Doctor," Virgii sighed, "It was a wise precaution."

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Virgii, Strobnick and Boxer stepped through the small airlock at the very front of the Roadrunner's main hull. The doors hissed shut, the guard Boxer had posted made himself comfortable, and Lt. Laarthi relaxed, secure in the knowledge that for the next hour or so, the Roadrunner would be rid of that obnoxious mutt.

Quickly returning to engineering, and let's face it you can go anywhere quickly on a ship the size of the Roadrunner, Laarthi popped open a storage locker, removed a spray bottle loaded with Caithan-scented spray, and stepped over to the warp core.

"This is mine,' she said, giving it a quick misting. She moved past her little planter box to the compact quantum slipstream core that powered the ring nacelle. "This is mine too,"

Within minutes, engineering was fully claimed. Now it was time to start expanding.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"We have a very long way to travel to get home," Virgii was saying to Regent T't't't't, "We had a minor, er, navigational error and clipped an asteroid. We simply need some time and raw material to repair our ship, and we'll be on our way,"

"And a new window for my room," Boxer spoke up.

"Actually, the window is quite easy, we just need a place to install it," Strobnick corrected him, "In fact, one of the laboratory experiments I designed involved-"

"Never mind them," Virgii cut the doctor off.

"Your request isn't difficult," T't't't't said, looking over the supply list Virgii had given him, "I can have my Head Quartermaster, T't't, gather these supplies in a matter of hours,"

"Very good," Virgii said, resisting the urge to ask about the name similarity, 'We certainly do appreciate-"

"How do you name all 6 billion people on your planet if everybody's name just has T's?" Boxer asked curiously, "Is there some poor boy who's name is T't't't't't't't't't't't't't-"

"Here boy!" Virgii said suddenly, pulling out a MilkBone, "Who wants a treat?"

Boxer's head snapped right around.

"Go get it!" he said, flinging the snack back towards the Roadrunner. Boxer immediately bolted after it.

"Cultural…tolerance," Virgii said nervously, responding to the stare T't't't't and his people were giving him.

"Most interesting," T't't't't said, "But as I was saying, the problem is not in obtaining the materials you want, the problem is the method of payment,"

"Oh," Virgii swallowed, "Well, um, we do have a great deal of cultural information, starcharts, scientific knowledge that we might trade,"

"Our people have little interest in exploration or expansion," T't't't't said, "We are content to remain in our home nest,"

"I guess you wouldn't be interested in my recipe for bubble and squeak then," Virgii muttered.

"Bubble and squeak?" T't't't't cocked his head in a very bird-like fashion, "Does it contain mice?"

"Um. No."

"Then I'm afraid not,"

"Well then, what is it you want?" Virgii asked.

T't't't't and his group exchanged a glance.

"Would any of you be interested in assisting the less fortunate by performing tasks and providing services they otherwise would be unable to afford?" T't't't't asked, "In return, we will provide the materials you require."

"Do what to the who now?" Boxer asked, gnawing away at the bone.

"They want us to do…volunteer work?" Virgii asked. T't't't't nodded.

"Where do we begin?"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

An hour later, Boxer was standing at the station side of the airlock leading to the Roadrunner. His guard was in place, a dozen crewmembers had disembarked to volunteer down on the Wuyan planet and the first shipment of supplies had arrived. Lt. Laarthi and one of her engineers had looked over the pallet of duranium hull plates and structural spars, shrugged, then pulled it aboard the ship. The docking area assigned to the Roadrunner had been closed off from the main hanger bay by a series of retractable dividers then pressurized, and Dr. Strobnick was already guiding another group of crewmembers as they removed the damaged portions of the ring nacelle in preparation for repairs. All in all, the Roadrunner's tiny crew was very busy.

As Laarthi returned to the ship, Boxer caught the whiff of a new scent. It was Caithan, no doubt about it, but it wasn't the usual scent of Laarthi's body odour. Noo, this was something different. Something…bad.

Quickly confirming that his guard was still in place, Boxer trotted back into the ship. His nose was sniffing frantically at the recycled air, trying to track the scent even as the Roadrunner's air recyclers pulled it away. It was only a matter of minutes before he found himself at the security equipment storage locker. He keyed in his security code and nearly gagged. The forensic tools, the hazard suits, the face shields…all of it reeked of cat!

"Computer!" he demanded, "Who's accessed this locker in the last hour?" Like he even needed to ask.

"Lt. Laarthi accessed this locker at 1426h," the cold voice of the computer replied.

This would not stand! That cat was moving in on his territory, and it would not stand! Boxer rushed to the nearest cleaning closet, snatched a jug of disinfectant and went to work. It took nearly an hour of scrubbing, but soon the equipment smelled like nothing more than disinfectant spray. Sighing with relief, Boxer decided to head up to the bridge to run another security sweep.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Laarthi giggled to herself as she watched Boxer's comm-badge beacon move from the Deck 3 corridor to the bridge. That had kept him busy for an hour. She twirled her scent-sprayer around her finger, wondering just what she could 'claim' next.

"Lt. Laarthi, the Wuyans have the plasma coil segments we requested," Lt. Mytim commed from the airlock.

"Can't you inspect them?" Laarthi asked, "I'm not actually an engineer, I don't know what I'm looking for!"

"Regulations clearly state that the chief engineer must…oh no!"

"What?" Laarthi rushed out of engineering and towards the airlock, her Starfleet Intelligence agent training taking control. Was there a bomb? Were the Wuyans trying to sabotage them? The plasma coil wasn't new or unique technology; any race that had used ring-shaped nacelles used pairs of plasma coils to force drive plasma into counter-rotating loops, the resulting subspace distortions being used to propel the ship. The Roadrunner Project had found the ring method worked better than the traditional nacelle pairs when it came to maintaining a slipstream. But such a commonplace technology could still be used for sabotage!

"These coils operate at a frequency of .233!" Mytim complained, "We're going to have to recalibrate them, or the lower quarter of the ring nacelle is going to be glowing aqua instead of teal!"

Laarthi paused right next to the narrow stairs leading up to Desk 3. (The Roadrunner was too small for a turbolift network.)

"WHAT?" she demanded.

"I know! The nerve! Dr. Strobnick is going to be very upset!"

"What a shame that will be," Laarthi hissed.

"Well, this isn't so bad," Lt. Cmdr Virgii said, helping to assemble a series of pre-fabricated segments into what was shaping into a moderate-sized house, "Is it?"

Crewman Billings took a breath of fresh air, then resumed tightening the fasteners between two segments.

"Nope, not at all," he said. He wiped sweat from his brow, then looked around. They were at the edge of a new subdivision being built near one of Wuyan's major cities. They could see the spires of the city itself to the east, the Wuyan's avian nature asserting itself in high, narrow buildings that would make most races uncomfortable.

"A good day's work for a good day's pay," Virgii said with satisfaction, "This is the way it should be. No plotting, no scheming, no cheating. We need supplies, they need work done. Simple."

"I wonder why they need us to do this?" Billings wondered.

"Come again?"

"I mean, why do they need us to do this? It's not like we're doing a job that any half-programmed construction bot couldn't do,"

"Probably a cultural thing," Virgii shrugged, "Some races don't like relying on technology for something as simple as constructing shelter,"

"That doesn't explain why we're the only work crew out here,"

Indeed, other than a Wuyan supervisor that had given then the house plans, pointed out the supplies, then promptly left, there didn't seem to be another soul in sight.

"You worry too much," Virgii said, "It's probably just their equivalent of Sunday, or something like that.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Lt. Laarthi stepped away from the replicator in the Roadrunner's tiny mess, a bowl of fish stew in hand. After several hours spent helping Mytim recalibrate the plasma coils (at Dr. Strobnick's emphatic insistence), she was starving. Being well past the supper rush, the mess was nearly deserted, even the coveted table right next to the small window was empty! Laarthi made a small sound of pleasure then stepped briskly to the table, her tail swishing behind her. She was about to sit when her nose caught a scent. It was faint…and canine! She sniffed the table, the back of the chair, finally coming to a stop at the cushion. Yup, Boxer had definitely been sitting there. Gross! She grabbed another chair and was about to sit when the same scent crossed her nose. The new seat cushion was also contaminated! She swapped for another, then another. Soon she was tearing the mess apart, sniffing frantically for a seat that didn't reek of dog.

Finally, standing in the middle of the roof with her bowl of stew, she threw back her head and yowled.

"BOOOOOXXXEEEERRRRRR!"

On the bridge, Boxer leaned back from the security display and snickered.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Down on the planet, Virgii, Billings and the rest of the volunteers were settling into the comfortable hotel the Wuyans had sent them to after their work shift had ended. The rooms were very comfortable, each member being given a nicely appointed room to themselves. There was no pool, instead an exercise room resembling a giant bird-cage adorned the roof level of the building, but they were all too tired to even think about doing anything other than tying down.

"I hurt everywhere," Billings groaned, leaning over his dinner of replicated…something. Given the Wuyan's reaction to the name bubble & squeak, he wasn't sure he wanted to know what kind of meat he was eating.

"Wonderful, isn't it?" Virgii said, a not-entirely-sincere smile creasing his features, "Hard work is good for you. Puts muscles on your frame,"

"Or tears skin off," Billings whimpered, massaging what he was sure was going to turn into a nasty callous.

"Man up," Virgii said, "A man's hands should be rough. None of this moisturized rubbish,"

"Uh, welcome to the 24th Century, sir," Billings said.

"We only have," Virgii consulted his padd, "16 more person-hours of work to pay for the hull plating and plasma coils they gave us. We'll be out of here before you know it."

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

The next morning, Virgii was almost ready to eat his words. Every part of his body ached, from the arches of his feet to the cords in his neck. Groaning as he rolled over in bed, he found himself face to feathered face with Regent T't't't't.

"BLIMEY!" Virgii cried, jerking back hard enough to fall off the bed to the floor, sending a fresh wave of pain through his body.

"Pleasant waking to you," T't't't't said, ruffling his feathers.

"More pleasant without strangers in my room!"

T't't't't cocked his head.

"Your kind prefers privacy when waking? How odd. In any case, I have an offer for you,"

"Uh…shoot?"

"Shoot what?"

"I mean ask!"

"Your Dr. Strobnick has requested two hundred kilograms of replicator mass, along with fifty LEPs of energy from our dock," LEPs referred to Litres of Electro-Plasma, the result of antimatter reactions used to power high-energy devices.

"I see. I don't suppose we could just requisition whatever he plans to replicate?"

"Our net cost is the same," T't't't't waved a hand, "and in the circumstances, the doctor prefers equipment replicated to your own specifications."

Translation, Virgii thought to himself, whatever Strobnick is making is either classified, or requires the Roadrunner's newly repaired nano-fabrication system instead of a traditional parts replicator.

"Very well, what do you want in return?"

"An additional one hundred hours of labour," T't't't't said.

Virgii considered. With a dozen crewmen working, that worked out to an extra day or so.

"Throw in some painkillers, and you have a deal!" Virgii said.

"You are experiencing discomfort?" T't't't't asked sharply.

"Well, it's not bad, but-"

But the alien had already tapped several instructions on his padd.

"Do not leave this room until instructed," T`t`t`t`t said, "Ì must check on the remainder of your people. This is unacceptable!

"What?" But the door has snapped shut.

Virgii stood there for a minute. Surely the Wuyan weren't turning hostile over something as small as a few muscle aches.

"Virgii to Roadrunner," he tapped his badge.

"Boxer here,"

"Lieutenant I have a…standby,"

The door to his suite had opened and two Wuyan had walked in carrying a massage table and a pitcher of something green.

"Please remove your outer garments and lie down," the one instructed.

"Drink this," replied the other.

Within seconds, Virgii was flat on his stomach, the aches being rubbed right out of his muscles, the green beverage apparently being filled with proteins, electrolytes and a mild painkiller.

"We apologize," said the masseuse.

"We didn't realize we had a labour crew here," said the other.

"We'll be waiting when you return tonight. Again, we humbly apologize."

"Sir?" Boxer called.

Virgii let his head fall into the opening in the massage table.

"Forget it, Lieutenant. Virgii out."

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Aboard the Roadrunner, Lt. Boxer whimpered as the channel closed. Virgii sounded strange. And regardless of whether he was acting as an SI Agent or as a Security Chief, Boxer didn't like strange.

But the sensor sweeps told him that all the Roadrunner crew on the planet seemed OK, there were no strange readings coming from the Wuyan station and the guard at the Roadrunner's airlock was still conscious.

"Strobnick to Boxer," chimed his comm.

"Boxer here,"

"Lieutenant, apparently the replicator mass and electro-plasma we're receiving need your inspection and approval before we dump them into our storage tanks." Strobnick said.

"Of course," Boxer licked his lips, "Send Crewman Dion up to monitor the security station and I'll be right down,"

"Very well. Strobnick out."

Boxer waited until the short, stocky crewman arrived, then stepped out the small door leading out of the Roadrunner's bridge. In the tiny corridor beyond there was a head to one side, a tiny elevator (the kind that only went up or down) to the other, and a carpeted stairway leading down to Deck 2. On Deck 2 there was, of course, another stairway leading to Deck 3. He paused. Once again, the scent of cat filled his nostrils. His path to the airlock took him right past his jury-rigged quarters.

CAT!

The smell was everywhere! On his temporary bunk, in the bag filled with his extra uniforms and off-duty cloths, in his spare boots. EVERYWHERE!

"AAARRRRRROOOOOOOOO!" Boxer howled.

That cat would pay!

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Outside the airlock, Laarthi enjoyed a moment of grim satisfaction as she heard the faint sound of howling. That would teach Boxer who was boss.

"Are you sure we need Lt. Boxer to inspect this stock?" Dr. Strobnick was saying doubtfully.

"Absolutely," Laarthi assured him, "After all, who knows what's buried in there? Now, if you'll excuse me, I will help the team installing the plasma coil segments."

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

The next day, Lieutenant Mytim found herself on the planet surface, looking for Lt. Cmdr Virgii. Her search found her in a borrowed Wuyan travel pod soaring past a large metropolis towards one of its suburbs. Homing in on Virgii's comm-badge, Mytim landed the travel pod outside a large brick building. She'd barely stepped out of the pod when the sound of breaking glass split the air. Mytim sighed, pulled her phaser out of its holster and lamented the fact that she was probably about to get dirt under her nails.

Not even flinching at the sound of something being smashed, Mytim slipped through the open door and eased around the corner…just in time to dodge a sledgehammer flying right at her head.

"BLIMEY!" Virgii cried, jerking the hammer to the side even as Mytim fell backward. The hammer bounced off an exposed pipe, flew out of Virgii's hands and crashed into an exposed data network switchbox. The box gave a few half-hearted sparks before dying completely.

"Mytim! Virgii said shakily, "I'm terribly sorry! I wasn't expecting anybody here!" He looked over at the destroyed panel. "Oh. Billings had so hoped to smash the electronics."

Mytim had climbed to her feet and was brushing dust off her pants. Realizing it was futile, she crossed her arms and gave Virgii a look that wasn't quite cold, but wasn't exactly warm either.

"The Wuyan's have offered to top up our anti-matter supply in exchange for an additional 30 hours of service," she said, getting right to business.

"That's it?" Virgii said, collecting himself, "They wanted a hundred for replicator mass, and-"

"We've barely used any of our anti-matter supply," Mytim reminded him, "We've been out of dock less than two weeks. We don't need any anti-matter."

"It can't hurt to be fully stocked," Virgii said, nudging his hammer with his boot before picking it up, "Besides, I'm having fun,"

"Fun?"

"We're doing demolition today," Virgii replied, aiming at a section of interior wall and preparing to swing. "This whole building is being gutted and renovated."

"This is not our concern," Mytim said, now noticing that Virgii was wearing a set of baggy overalls and a construction helmet, "Our concern is getting back to Federation space!"

"And the more effort we put into preparing the ship now, the better our chances," Virgii said, "Now go back to the ship and see about loading some anti-matter,"

Mytim gracefully uncrossed her arms then walked back to the travel pod. This was not the way to get home quickly!

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

In the Wuyan space-dock, Dr. Strobnick was supervising the current repairs to the Roadrunner. Lt. Laarthi and several other crewmembers had finished installing the plasma coils and were in the process of assembling the structural supports and supporting systems. Soon it would be time to start the final process of attaching the hull plating.

"Crewman Anderson, bring me the SIF conduit segments," Laarthi called, not looking back.

Near the stack of supplies, Lieutenant Boxer carefully crept towards the SIF conduits, a spray bottle in hand. Crewman Anderson turned to pick them up, only to be distracted by the round magnetic bearing that Boxer rolled across the bay deck. Quickly seizing the moment, he squirted several shots of Sheppian pheromones on the conduits before ducking back behind the supplies.

Laarthi's tail was swishing angrily as the looked over the lower portion of the nacelle.

"Doctor, is it supposed to look like that?" she asked, pointing at a tangled mess of optical cables.

"Leave the thinking to the professors," Strobnick said absently, "I've got everything under control here,"

"I doubt it," Laarthi muttered, picking up the first segment of conduit, and wrinkling her nose, "AND THAT DAMNED DOG IS GOING TO DIE!"

"Nobody is going to die," Strobnick continued, "I assure you, the nacelle is being assembled properly.

"Not the...forget it," Laarthi tossed the conduit to the deck. She turned and stalked back towards the airlock into the ship, "I'm running out of ideas," she muttered to herself.

As she left, Boxer popped up from behind the supplies.

"Hello!" he said cheerfully, "I'm here to inspect the anti-matter the Wuyans are delivering?"

"Ah yes my boy!" Strobnick nodded absently, "Right over there. Try not to drop it,"

"Yuppers!"

"I need to talk to you," Mytim said. It was the following day and she'd just finished delivering yet another offer from the Wuyans to Virgii, this time for several stasis bins of fresh produce in return for help replacing the plumbing in a school.

"You picked the perfect time," he replied, his tail wagging happily, "I'm just doing my rounds…I could use somebody to talk to!"

"It's about the Cap…Commander Virgii," Mytim said, her head held in a way that suggested defiance while remaining elegant, "I'm worried he's losing sight of what's important,"

"And what's that?" Boxer asked, giving the phaser couplings a once over then checking them off of his padd.

"Getting home!" Mytim said, "Dr. Strobnick will have the repairs finished tomorrow, but we're indentured to the Wuyan for three more days!"

"Does that mean my room is fixed?" Boxer's ears perked up.

"Yes, but that's beside the point," Mytim went on, "He's not even bargaining! He just agrees to whatever they ask for,"

"You have to admit," Boxer shrugged, "The materials they've given us are top-quality. If only we had such honest traders in the Federation,"

"By the time we get back, maybe they will," Mytim said, "Boxer, I've tried speaking to him. He won't listen. You need to help me convince him to pack up and leave!"

Now Boxer was starting to look uncomfortable.

"But he's…the pack leader,"

"He's an engineer," Mytim said coolly, "who has been forced into command by circumstance. He's afraid of indecision because of what happened on the Aerostar and he's overcompensating by making quick, bad choices now,"

"Give it a few more days," Boxer said, checking the access logs to the weapons locker next on the inspection list, "Maybe he'll come around."

"Then you won't help me," Mytim said.

"You're worrying over nothing,"

Mytim sighed, then pulled a hanky out of her pocket and began sobbing, badly and theatrically.

"Oh! Boo! Boo-hoo!" she wailed, burying her nose in her hanky.

"I said wait a few more days,"

"Very well," Mytim sighed, straightening up and tucking the hanky away. She was about to leave when Boxer popped the locker open, releasing a wave of stink.

"What is THAT?" Mytim, her voice calm but somehow implying a deep loathing.

"Caithan pheromones," Boxer growled, "All over MY weapons! This is the LAST STRAW! I'm dousing her favourite catnip ball in my own mix!"

"Wait," Mytim's eyes widened, "The stench on the ship is because of YOU TWO?" Now her calm was beginning to crack, "We thought it was something in the Wuyan air supply!"

"Oh, I didn't think human noses would even notice anything," Boxer tucked his tail politely between his legs, "Sorry,"

Mytim glared for another moment, then turned and quickly walked away, one hand on her face.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

The next evening found Lt. Cmdr. Virgii riding a shuttle back up to the Wuyan spacedock. At Dr. Strobnick's request he was en route to inspect the repairs that had been made. Within minutes of arriving at the large donut-shaped space station he had been politely escorted to the Roadrunner's docking bay. Looking through the semicircular windows, he was struck again that despite the two long, spindly landing legs that supported the main hull and the beak-like shape of the forward saucer, the ship really didn't look like a roadrunner of either the real or cartoon varieties. (He'd researched the topic thoroughly while trying to figure out just why exactly the ship's dedication plaque used 'Beep-Beep!' as a quotation.)

He couldn't see the lower section of the ring nacelle from his current angle, but he could see that the hull around Boxer's quarters had been repaired.

As he stepped down the stairs that would lead him into the pressurized bay, he was joined by Regent T't't't't.

"Captain," the regent said, ruffling his feathers, "I hope our little mishap at the hotel has been straightened out,"

"Yes, of course," Virgii said, "Most kind of you,"

"Excellent," T't't't't said, "I understand your repairs are nearly complete?"

"Just what I'm about to find out, my good chap,"

"We may have something else to offer you before you consider leaving,"

"Really?" Virgii paused, "I don't know. I think my crew is getting a bit antsy,"

"You will be travelling through unfamiliar space," T't't't't said, "Surely you would be finding our star charts worth bargaining for,"

Virgii stopped in his tracks. The Wuyan weren't very interested in exploration. But even if their charts only extended a few dozen light-years, having a map of the space they were about to traverse would be very, very useful.

"Indeed we would,"

"We have a hydroelectric dam on our northern continent that acts as a backup to our regular power supply. Two of the generation stations are in need of refurbishment. Surely now that your engineers are completing repairs on your own ship…"

"Deal," Virgii said.

"Excellent," T't't't't smiled, handing him a padd with coordinates and instructions, "I will arrange the data transfer once your engineers arrive,"

Bowing, the regent took his leave.

Arriving at the rear of the ship, Virgii saw Strobnick and Mytim watching as the technicians put the finishing touches on the nacelle's new coat of paint.

"She looks as good as new," Virgii said pleasantly, "I trust everything has tested successfully?"

"Short of activating the drive," Strobnick nodded, as Mytiml stared at Virgii with a look of surprise, quickly concealed. The commander was tanned, his uniform had tightened slightly around the shoulders and loosened around the waist. Clearly, nearly a week of labour had been good for him.

"Good. Have your people ready to beam down to the planet tomorrow," Virgii handed him T't't't't's padd, "Nothing major, a little refurbishment job in exchange for star-charts."

"I had assumed we'd be leaving as soon as our current obligations were met," the doctor said, annoyed.

"Well, then we better meet them quickly," Virgii said, turning and strolling back to the shuttle that would take him to the surface.

As the bay doors closed behind him, Mytim shook herself out of her distracted state. That does it! It was time to FORCE some action. And, thanks to the effects a week of hard work and sunshine had had on Virgii, or more specifically thanks to her new reaction to Virgii, she had a good idea where to begin.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Boxer was so pleased to have his quarters back. A new bunk and chair had replaced the ones sucked out into the void and he was looking forward to curling up in his own space again. He carefully sniffed the air. Laarthi had been inflamed that he'd ruined her catnip ball and had vowed revenge. But so far, so good.

Opening the narrow door that led to the tiny bathroom he shared with the next room over (Virgii's quarters) he quickly undressed and jumped into the shower. Only to reel out, gagging as he was showered in Caithan pheromones instead of the sonic cleansing rays he was expecting.

It was all over him! In his fur! On his skin! In his NOSE! Wrapping a towel around his waist he dashed into the corridor.

"Problem, Lieutenant?" Mytim asked pleasantly as he stalked by.

"That cat must die!" Boxer growled. He stormed a few doors down then began banging on the panels.

"LAARTHI! GET OUT HERE YOU…YOU…FURBALL!" he shouted.

The doors hissed open revealing the Caithan officer, her heckles raised.

"Serves you right for ruining my…my…" Laarthi's fur slowly stood down, her nose twitching. "Wait…oh no. What's that smell? No, no, no, NO!"

"It's whatever you programmed my shower to spray me with!" Boxer snapped, "You broke the rules! I only attacked your possessions, I never touched you! Now smell me! It will be WEEKS before I get this out of my fur!"

"I…rules? We didn't agree…but yes, they were implied," Laarthi shook her head again.

"I can't talk to you right now," she snapped, stepping back and hitting the button to close and lock her door.

Boxer cocked his head, looking confused.

"That was…weird," he said.

"You were expecting more shouting?" Mytim suggested.

"Yes,"

"Maybe you should smell yourself a bit more carefully," she suggested.

Boxer did. Now that she mentioned it, the smell Laarthi had used on him was different this time. It was Caithan, no doubt. And disgusting. But it was also more musky. Almost like…like…

"Male pheromones," he said, a grin breaking out on his face, "She programmed the shower to spray me with male pheromones instead of female,"

"Well, somebody programmed the shower," Mytim said with a hint of a smile, "Or maybe I should say 're-programmed' it,"

"And now she's responding to me like a…a cat in heat!" Boxer was giggling now.

"Exactly,"

"Ohhh, such perfect revenge! Absolutely perfect!"

"Good," Mytim dropped the smile, "Now go break into the Wuyan computer systems and find out just why they're so insistent on keeping us here!"

Boxer hesitated. That would be going against the pack leader. But on the other hand Virgii hadn't forbidden him from investigating the Wuyan. In fact, it was probably part of his duty. And he really did owe Mytim…there's no way he would have come up with something like her little switch-a-roo!

"I could use Laarthi's help with that" he admitted.

"Whatever. Just try to keep her hands off of you," Mytim said, turning to leave.

Boxer grinned. Perfect!

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Mytim returned to the tiny bridge, where Dr. Strobnick was grumbling as he continued running tests on the repairs that had been made.

"Star-charts," he muttered, "An few extra days of work for star-charts. Why don't we just get them to build us a slipstream stabilization device while we're at it?"

"Would that work?" Mytim shot straight up in her seat. A QSD could have them home in a day!

"I may be an academic," Strobnick said, "But I still know better than to give classified technology away. Besides, do you really want to trust your molecules to a flock of walking seagulls?"

"Perhaps," Mytim said, keeping her voice as cultured as possible, "with proper supervision…"

"No. I have some other ideas we can try before we do something desperate,"

Desperate. Mytim would never admit to being desperate, it was unrefined. But as she saw the Sheppian and Caithan life signs leave the ship together, she couldn't help but think that her current plan reeked of desperation.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Boxer had quickly convinced Laarthi to help him with a little undercover op, pausing only to run back to his temporary quarters and a clothing replicator to make himself irresistible. He'd replicated a uniform two sizes too small, to better tease Laarthi with his physique. Unfortunately, the way his fur puffed out at the wrists and neck as a result really cancelled out any improvement. He'd replicated a popular Caithan cologne, which smelled absolutely rancid, and put on his gold-studded leather bracelets. (Furred species and chain-style jewellery didn't get along…most Sheppian and Caithan jewels and precious metals were usually embedded in leather or other fancy fabrics.)

Of course, doused as he was with pheromones, he could have dressed as a human clown and still gotten Laarthi hot and bothered. And if there was one advantage of being Sheppian, it was the puppy-dog eyes that could, rumour had it, evoke cries of 'Awww' and a liberal head-scratching from even the coldest of Vulcans.

Not that she wasn't putting up a fight. Immediately after agreeing to help him dig into the Wuyan, she'd rummaged around in her closet, only to come out with a small breathing mask. Boxer had already managed to 'accidentally' disconnect the breathing tube twice, and he was positive he could see Laarthi lick her lips when he turned to lead the way out of the ship.

This was going to be fun!

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

I am going to kill that dog! Laarthi thought to herself as she and Boxer slipped discreetly out of the station's Commerce Plaza and into a maintenance tunnel. She reached into the bag of Starfleet Intelligence goodies they'd brought and pulled out two holographic overlays and a tricorder that was programmed to disguise their life-signs. Suitable disguised, they started looking for an office or a data terminal that might have information not available at the public information kiosks found in the station and on the planet below.

She flinched as Boxer brushed against her, purposefully rubbing his arm against her. Against her best efforts, a wave of attraction rose up, powered by that stupid smell. Between the pheromones and the Eau de Poisson Morte he'd somehow identified as her favourite, her nose was having a hayday. This was quickly followed by an even stronger wave of absolute disgust.

"Oops", he said, accidentally catching his tricorder on the breathing tube to her mask and yanking it off, exposing her to another blast of smell, "Sorry, sweet thing,"

"ENOUGH!" Laarthi snapped, "You stupid dog! Do you think this is actually FUNNY?"

"Very!" now his tail was wagging frantically; even the holographic overlay couldn't hide it.

"I should have done this mission alone!" Laarthi fumed, "Between your stink and your moronic antics it's a wonder the whole station doesn't know we're here!"

"Of course, Agent Laarthi," Boxer tried to keep a straight face, "Or should I call you 'Cuddles' from now on?"

They'd reached a door. Quickly scanning, they found that it was not only empty, it contained a computer terminal. Grabbing a lock descrambler, Laarthi popped the door open. Boxer moved around the desk and started tapping.

"I'm in," he said. Then, with a grin, "Not the way you'd like,"

Laarthi went into a sputtering fit, quickly cut short with the hacking up of a hairball.

"Don't leave that behind," Boxer said calmly, "We can't leave evidence."

"Do you honestly think," she snapped, "That any amount of pheromones could actually make you attractive? That this is anything other than a purely biological response?"

"That's all it needs to be, Cuddles,"

"How DARE you!" Laarthi fumed, "How dare you shout at me for breaking the rules, then do something like this! This has gone beyond fun and games, Boxer! You've humiliated me!"

"You're over-reacting," Boxer said, still scanning through material available on the terminal, "Ohhh, this is interesting."

"I am not!" she said, "You're deliberately provoking me! You're acting like child! The game isn't fun anymore!"

That seemed to register. He cocked his head and gave her the 'confused puppy' look.

"Oh, you understand games, don't you Boxer?" Laarthi demanded, "Well, just remember that when you're playing Bury-the-Bone in the backyard with your mangy little canine friends, it's no fun if somebody just runs away and keeps the bone for themselves! WHAT?"

Boxer's lip had started curling into a giggle.

Laarthi mentally reviewed what she's just said. OK, maybe trying to use a Sheppian analogy wasn't all that appropriate, given the current circumstances.

Fine.

"Just remember, Boxer," she said, moving closer, "Remember that when the game's not fun, the other puppies don't want to play."

And with that, she drove her knee into his crotch at warp speed. Boxer let out a yowl and collapsed to the deck, clutching his bruised bits.

"Now let's go," she said, grabbing the tricorder he'd linked to the computer, "Somebody was bound to have heard that."

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

An hour later, Laarthi had called the senior staff plus Regent T't't't't into the lounge adjacent to the Runningbird's docking bay.

"Can we get on with this?" Lt. Cmdr. Virgii said, "those pipes aren't going to replace themselves. Not until I turn on the construction micro-bots, anyway,"

"Of course," Laarthi said.

"And dear God, what is that SMELL?" Virgii demanded. He looked over at Boxer, "Is it him? What happened?"

"Stupidity and failure," Laathi said coldly, "But we're here because the Wuyan have been hiding something from us,"

Virgii turned to T't't't't.

"We've been here less than a week. I'm sure there's lots of stuff they haven't told us. That's the way it works."

"This is something we really should have known," Boxer added quietly.

T't't't't looked uncomfortable.

"Will you share the news, or shall I?" Laarthi asked.

"We gave the workers too much!" T't't't't burted, "We agreed to too many of their damned union demands, now we can't get anything done unless we provide them with buffet meals, rose-scented showers and latinum-encrusted toilet facilities! Our negotiators were duped! Duped, I tell you, duped!"

"Huh?" Virgii said flatly.

"Their own Guild of Civil Construction has somehow managed to manipulate their legal system so that the laws governing labour relations with their government allow the Guild to set ridiculously high terms for any construction projects," Mytim translated. She'd viewed the data Laarthi and Boxer had brought back, "Public works has slowed to a standstill. Infrastructure is aging and can only be replaced at an exorbitant cost. However, the introverted nature of their species means that the Guild didn't consider off-worlders when they had the legislation drafted. "

"We're building off-worlder colonies," T't't't't admitted, "We can provide you excellent working and living conditions at a fraction of what it would cost to employ our own people. We were hoping we could keep you here long enough that you'd consider staying permanently. Especially with your own people so far away."

"Interesting idea," Virgii mused. Mytim stomped on his foot. "Er, I mean, Regent T't't't't, I'm afraid we're going to have to leave as soon as our current commitments are met."

"Please!" the regent begged, "We can give your ship ablative armour for 200 hours of service. 150?"

Virgii quickly gauged his crew's reaction, but only Boxer looked interested.

"I'm sorry regent, but we really do need to be on our way."

T't't't't sighed.

"Very well. But if you come across anybody who'd be willing to put in a good day's work for a reasonable day's pay, do send them our way."

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

As the meeting broke up, Mytim quickly tracked down Virgii before he could return to the planet. To her surprise, he turned towards the Runningbird's airlock.

"Not returning to the great outdoors?" she asked.

"I have…work here to do," he said.

She followed him as he boarded the ship and climbed to deck 2, towards the tiny ready room at the base of the stairs to the bridge.

"What?" he asked as she closed the door behind her.

"I sent Boxer and Laarthi into the Wuyan station, undercover, to discover what they were hiding from us," she said, "This action was unauthorized, and I'm ready to face the consequences."

Virgii crossed his arms.

"You did what I should have done," he said, "You investigated. You asked questions. You poked, and you prodded, and you found something we needed to know."

"May I make an observation?"

"You may,"

"There's a difference between making a timely decision and a hasty one," she said, "You've made it clear that you feel that your former captain's indecisiveness caused problems, but you're so eager not to repeat his mistake that you've made a completely new one. You chose to help the Wuyan before you fully understood the situation," she allowed a small amount of anger to show, "and you were very, very lucky that their 'secret plot' in this case was a relatively minor piece of dishonesty. If they'd been interested in kidnapping us, stealing our ship, or otherwise forcing us into a labour community, we would have been helpless!"

"You're right, of course," Virgii said. He looked up. "Will that be all?"

Mytim straightened her uniform.

"I certainly hope so," she said.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Two days later, the Roadrunner eased out of the Wuyan space station, fully repaired and stocked for the journey ahead.

"One planet down," Virgii sighed, "How many hundred to go on this trip?"

"That depends on whether or not we can work any engineering magic," Mytim said. She and Strobnick were pouring over the slipstream sensor data gathered during the voyage out.

"There is no magic, my dear," Strobnick said, "Simply mathematics."

"I'm just glad we got the Wuyan to throw in a barrel of odour-neutralizer before we left," Virgii said, "This ship smelled like a kennel."

"Good thing they were feeling guilty." Laarthi agreed, "By the way, when are we letting Boxer out of that barrel?"

"Your discretion, Lieutenant," Virgii said. He leaned back in the command chair. "Set course back to Federation space, warp 6."

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

In the Roadrunner's cargo bay, Lt. Boxer whimpered miserably as he was doused with even more odour-neutralizer.

"Keep scrubbing," Crewman Billings said, drawing another bucket of lemony-scented fluid from the barrel in which Boxer had been unceremoniously tossed, "I think we're making progress!"

Armed with long-handled scrubbers, the other members of Laarthi's engineering team continued working, scrubbing the stink out of the poor Sheppian.

"Maybe we should have shaved him first?" one of the techs asked.

"Not a bad idea," Billings agreed, "Anbody got a set of clippers?"

Boxer whimpered again as the Roadrunner flashed into warp.


	4. 4 - Hospitality

Star Traks: Halfway to Haven 1.4 – "Hospitality"

* * *

"Increase power to engines 5 through 9 by 15%," Captain Elizabeth Simplot ordered, her gaze focused on the gleaming orb of Matria Prime visible through Starbase 341's transparent dome.

"Our orbit is already optimal," replied the voice of her first officer, Matrian Colonel Myres Abela, "We've been making minor corrections all week, this is our final adjustment, there's no need-"

"Just do it!" Simplot snapped, "Increase power to engines 5 though 9 and give us a 4 degree increase in our Y-axis pitch.

"Yes, Captain," Abela said, her tone a bit frosty. Yes, Matrians and the Federation shared the concept of the chain of command, but if anybody alive knew how to manoeuvre the massive, 3-kilometer disc that was Haven, it was her! Still, she conveyed Simplot's orders to Matrian Lieutenant Fissett, Director of Shipbuilding Lieutenant Commander Shurgroe and Director of Dome Operations Lieutenant Wyer as they manned three of the control pulpits in the command complex.

Simplot eyed Matria Prime as it slowly started shifting across the starry sky above the city.

"Reverse!" she ordered, "Cut engines 5 though 9, give me a twenty-second pulse on engines 18 though 22, then shut everything down!"

She could hear Abela parroting her orders to the Ops crew. Abela could call it the Haven Command Complex if she really wanted to, but to Simplot the three-level control center of the orbital city was quickly becoming Ops. She actually had Wyer working on a way to add Ops to the Matrian communications routing system without Abela noticing.

"Shut them down," Abela ordered. Wyer tapped his panel and there was a low groan as Haven's impulse/antigravity engines powered off. She stepped towards the railing of the command deck and looked down through one of the big lower windows. A holographic overlay had been added, showing a close-up of a section of lakeshore near the central island.

"Are you happy now?" she demanded.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Hundreds of meters below, Simplot bobbed atop the water, lying on a comfortable inflatable mattress. The waves caused by Haven's movement were settling down as she stretched back out and pulled an actual paper book out of a waterproof covering. Haven was in its night cycle, the slow rotation of the city having turned the dome away from the sun. Sort of. Wyer was still sorting out the orbital mechanics. But the important thing was that now, with the bright day side of the planet below shining through the dome, there was just enough light for Simplot to comfortably read her book.

"That's perfect," she said, "Absolutely perfect! Well done!"

"You realize that with the velocity we need to maintain our orbit, we're only going to be facing the day side for another 30 minutes," Abela said, "And we're not doing another orbital adjustment! We needed this one to stabilize our orbit after that little trip, but I'm not powering up the engines again just because you don't have a night-light!"

"Relax, Colonel, I'll be done in another half-hour," Simplot said.

"And why are you swimming at night anyway? Couldn't you wait-"

"Simplot out," she cut the channel. Abela could be such a mother hen. Their relationship had improved over the last couple of weeks, to the point where they could work together without cursing, fighting or hair-pulling, but there was still a lot of room for improvement. But that was shop talk. Work stuff. Simplot had spent her whole afternoon going through rental requests and housing proposals for the station. The Matrian Council still hadn't decided to start moving people up to the empty city, but they seemed to be planning something. On the other hand, that didn't explain why she suddenly had fifty requests for store space coming from businesses in Federation space.

"Ahhh!" Simplot cried out, "Work stuff! Deep breath, Liz. Just read the book and ignore all that crap. Just for one night." Grabbing her pina colada from the little floating drink-holder next to her air mattress, she took a long sip. The water was still slowly undulating from Haven's orbital correction, not even the inertial dampeners could fully cancel out the effect, but that was just fine. With the starry sky above, the gentle waves beneath and the illumination from Matria Prime, this was about as relaxing as life could get.

There was a rush of wind and the roar of antigravity engines as something passed by directly overhead. A pulsing green light suddenly flashed as sirens went off.

Simplot jerked so hard she fell right off the mattress, giving out a squawk of surprise as she tumbled into the cool water. She'd barely gotten her head above water in time to see four figures, naked except for loincloths, lowering themselves on ropes from what looked like a small police flyer.

"Ma'am," one of them said, "Private Yeks, Haven Civil Protection Team. Ma'am, you shouldn't be out on the water after dark,"

"And it took four of your and a big f**king siren to tell me that?!" Simplot shouted, trying to be heard over the screeching siren.

Yeks made a hand-gesture towards the flyer and the sound died.

"You shouldn't be out here miss," he repeated, "Can we offer you a lift to shore?"

"It's twenty feet away," Simplot grumbled, "And I'm fine, really!"

"That's right, I've been keeping an eye on her," a voice called from towards the shore.

Simplot spun in the water to find herself facing a well built young human male dressed in an old-style Earth lifeguard's uniform.

"Is that so," Yeks said sceptically.

"It is," the man said, "Don't worry about it. And tell Franches the next time he wants to deal with a misdemeanour, he doesn't need four policemen and a big-ass siren!"

"And FYI," Simplot piped up, "Rappelling down in loincloths? I could see everything. You might want to reconsider that one,"

Yeks gave them both a dark look, then tugged his rope. The four of them were immediately lifted back to the flyer, though Simplot noticed with satisfaction that they all crossed their legs on the way up. The flyer pivoted, then soared back towards CP HQ in the North Suburb.

Simplot turned her attention to her mysterious benefactor.

"Thanks for that," she said, trying to regain her dignity as she manoeuvred back onto her air mattress. "I did have somebody watching me though," she added, drawing her gaze back temporarily from the well-formed muscles beneath to the 'Lifeguard' shirt above. "A…a friend of mine is in Ops right now. She's got one of those fancy holographic window thingies pointed this way,"

"Then I guess I better behave myself," he winked.

"A little jealousy never hurt anybody," Simplot teased, "why don't you strip off that shirt and join me?"

"Don't have to ask me twice," he said, flashing her a dazzling smile. He stripped off the shirt, revealing abs that had to be artificially implanted. Tossing the shirt on the shore, he ran a few steps into the water before diving under. He swam under Simplot's mattress then came up the other side.

"So what's a pretty young thing like you doing in a dark lake at night anyway?" he asked playfully.

"Oh, just blowing off some steam," Simplot replied, throwing a mischievous look towards Ops before returning her attention to this handsome stranger.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Up in the command complex, Abela's eyes narrowed even further as, on the window's holographic overlay, Simplot grinned up at her before turning to the human in the water and giggling.

She snapped her fingers.

"Window L-3," she said sharply, then made a cutting motion with one hand. Obediently, the holographic overlay faded, returning the view to that of a window looking down the side of the Command Tower and into the city.

"Glad to see we're getting the bugs out of the user interfaces," Wyer said, turning from his panel, "Now if we could just get the computer's pseudo-personality online, we'd be set."

"It's not a matter of getting it online, it's a matter of finding it," Shurgroe said, "It wasn't copied over from the planetary databanks before the city was locked down, and so much was lost during the war, well…"

"I know there's a copy in the library," Abela said, turning away from the railing and returning to the center of the command deck, "I just…have to find it,"

"The profile, or the library?" Wyer asked.

Shurgoe turned to him.

"W-What do you mean?" he asked.

Wyer rose from his station and moved to the central, Haven-shaped holo-table. With a few taps the default view, a globe of Matria Prime, shrunk and moved up to take relative position to the table, as though it were the actual city. Inside the raised outer edge of the table dozens of small holographic towers appeared, recreating the city exactly within the table. Several cylindrical objects started flashing, scattered throughout the city.

"These are the main computer cores," Wyer said. Another tap and they vanished.

"And these are the backups," another series of smaller cylinders flashed, these ones buried deep beneath 'ground level'.

"And this is the physical backup library, where isolated copies of sensitive or valuable information are kept," he tapped again. This time, nothing flashed.

"I don't see it," Shurgroe said.

"That's because somebody decided to erase its location from the map when she decided that Haven needed to disappear for a few centuries," Wyer said, giving Abela a look.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Abela grumbled.

"But you know where it is, right?" Shurgroe asked.

"It's a big city," Abela said defensively, "I know…sort of…where it should be."

"Sooo…we're going exploring?" Shurgroe gulped. Searching a city this size for ANYTHING was bound to be a daunting task.

"You're going exploring," Wyer corrected him, "I've got to figure out this dome biosphere console," he pointed at an as-yet unused workstation.

"Oh come on, you can do that later," Shrugroe whined, "I don't want to be lost and alone in the city!"

"I can only experiment with this thing at night," Wyer said firmly, "Otherwise I have to deal with solar influence, and I'm not ready for that yet! Plus, we have to get in the habit of doing things like this at night so we don't disrupt the inhabitants,"

"I'll be coming with you," Abela said. She had drifted back over to the railing and was looking back down at the water. "Enough bickering. Wyer, don't you have work to do?"

"Yes ma'am," Wyer sighed, sitting at the biosphere control console, "Let's see if I can figure out how to give us a light fog,"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"So, you're a human?" Simplot's new companion was asking.

"Yes," she replied, lying on her side to chat, "You?"

"I've got a little Klingon in my blood," he said, "Just a bit. Great-great-grandfather or something,"

"It doesn't show," Simplot said, surprised.

"Well, it was a long time ago," he shrugged, "But don't worry, I still have an…asset or two…from that side of the family tree."

"Hey, hey, TMI!" Simplot said…though she really didn't mind. This guy was bold, bold in a way that reminded her of herself, Annerson, Sinclair and Terenth. Back on the Stallion the four of them had pursued men the way…well, the way this handsome stranger seemed to be pursuing her. Come to think of, there was something very familiar about this stranger. In fact, Simplot could have sworn she'd seen him before.

"What's your name, hotshot?" she asked.

"Harrison," he said.

"Harrison…"

"Uh, just leave it at Harrison for now," he said. He frowned. "Does it seem to be getting colder to you?"

"Actually, it does, Simplot admitted. The air was getting crisp and chilly. Wait, no, now it was getting warm and humid.

"Um," she looked up at the dome. Hazy mist was forming near the underside of the dome, quickly thickening into a layer of cloud.

"Maybe we should go inside," Harrison suggested.

"What did you have in mind?" Simplot gave him a suggestive wink.

A flash of lightening and the crash of thunder filled the sky.

"First, getting the hell out of the water!" Harrison exclaimed, tossing Simplot over his shoulder and sloshing towards shore.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"This is your idea of a light mist?" Abela asked Wyer as she looked at the roiling grey mess outside the lower windows. The dull flickers of lightening could barely be seen through the grey, and the tiny holographic city in the holo-table was obscured by a solid mass of clouds.

"Oops," Wyer said softly.

"Weren't you telling me one of your past lives was a weatherman?" Shurgroe asked him.

"She was used to predicting the weather, not controlling it," Wyer said, staring at his console, "OK, um, thunderstorms need energy, right? So let's try using the dome to radiate some of this extra heat into space,"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Outside, Shurgroe and Harrison had collapsed, laughing, on the grass two dozen meters up from the water.

"I didn't know this place could have weather!" Simplot laughed. She vaguely recalled Wyer and Abela chattering about biosphere experiments, but she'd been buried in Matrian leasing laws at that point. The muggy clouds had opened up (along with nozzles hidden in the dome supports) and sheets of rain were now pouring down on them.

"Me neither," Harrison said, almost shouting to be heard over the rain. He rolled towards her, then took her in his arms, "But who cares?" He moved in for the kiss.

Simplot was about to give in when she noticed two things: First, the expression on his face when he was doing the 'half-lidded kissy-face' was really, really familiar. Second, she hadn't seen it in the water, but he had a tattoo on his lower torso, half of it still obscured by his bathing suite.

"HEY!" Simplot snapped, yanking his waistband down just enough to see the rest of the tattoo, "I know you! You were in 'Risa Gone Wild, Volume 2'! "

Harrison suddenly looked very, very embarrassed.

"You're a porn star!" she shouted, "Your name isn't Harrison! It's…oh, what was it? Tereneth obsessed over you for a month…she even had your '12 Months of Steele 58000 Calendar'. Wait! Steele! Steele Stoneryder!"

"It's Harrison Stoneryder, really! I used to be a…an adult performer." Harrison admitted. He shivered, the air was suddenly getting colder, "But I quit that four years ago!"

"Oh really?" Simplot asked, getting to her feet and heading indoors. Truth be told, she wasn't really upset with him, after all she wasn't exactly Miss Innocence. But it was getting uncomfortably chilly, "So, let's get out of this weather and you can tell me what a former porn star is doing on a Matrian city that's closed to the public,"

Something hit Harrison right between the eyes. Up on the dome surface, hidden by the clouds, Wyer's attempt to radiate heat was having an unexpected side effect: hail.

They ran for the nearest building, trying to cover their heads as the rain was quickly replaced by peanut-sized hail.

"What the hell is going on up there?" Harrison wondered as they dashed under the stone overhang of a residential tower.

"We'll find out tomorrow," Simplot shrugged. Of course, she knew darn well it was Abela trying to, literally, rain on her parade! That bitch! "So, you were going to tell me what brings you out here?"

"Oh yeah," he nodded, "I'm the Starfleet Chief of Security,"

Simplot's eyes narrowed. The Starfleet Chief of Security. What the Matrians were calling the Director of Policing and External Security (DoPES). The man who had ignored Abela his entire time on the station, had ignored HER repeated comm-calls, had skipped meetings, avoided the security office and in general had been a complete lazy layabout ever since Simplot had arrived.

"A pleasure to meet you," Simplot said, smiling, "I'm Janet,"

This man would be destroyed.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

The next morning, Abela met with Lieutenant Shurgroe in the Transit Hub, the huge multi-level, ring-shaped chamber directly beneath the command tower. The Hub housed the main switch tracks for Haven's public transit system, along with boarding platforms, balconies, crossover bridges, staircases and the main entrances to the six Atriums. Shurgroe had simply shown up wearing his Starfleet uniform and carrying his tricorder and a padd. Abela, however, had emerged not from the broad staircase leading down from her apartment building, but instead from a turbolift. She was pulling an anti-gravity sled loaded with equipment behind her. She was dressed in her Matrian fatigues, but she was also carrying a heavy backpack. No, it wasn't just a backpack, it was an actual rucksack!

"Uhh, what's all that?" he asked.

Abela looked at him like he was an idiot.

"Food, water, a stove, raingear, winter wear," she said, "I brought you a sleeping bag and a pack, since I figured Starfleeters wouldn't think of this sort of thing,"

"We're just going out to the s-s-suburbs!" Shurgroe exclaimed, his stutter kicking back in as he suddenly started getting very nervous.

"We're going on a search through the city," Abela corrected him primly, "And until Wyer gets the weather systems under control, I don't know what we'll have to deal with,"

"Can't we just stay in the below-ground levels?" Shurgroe whined. He was a starship engineer. He should be helping Wyer figure out the biosphere weather control systems, or helping with the Silverado rebuild in Shipyard 3. But Wyer was adamant that he needed to find this library, and the engineers in Shipyard 3 had cut themselves off from the city, in an effort to 'better focus on their work'. Now here he was with Abela, about to go trekking God knew where!

There was a commotion on the stairs as Dr. Janet Annerson came running down.

"Colonel Abela!" she called, "Wait a moment!"

Putting on her profession 'It's time to deal with somebody I don't have a problem with…yet' face, Abela turned to face the doctor.

"Yes, doctor" she said politely.

"Don't forget this," Annerson said, handing her a long, hollow tube and a case of darts.

"What's this for?" Abela asked, her face switching to her 'It's time to deal with somebody I might have a problem with' mode.

"Shurgroe," Annerson explained, "he…well, he's got a few minor problems that are easily controlled with medication. He just hates taking it. So if he starts getting jittery, shoot him with this. Preferably in the ass. Aside from being a good place to administer shots, it's only fair since he's been a constant pain in mine,"

With that, Annerson smiled politely and turned back to the stairs.

Abela was still turning the blowgun over in her hands when the turbolift doors hissed open and a short, wiry Matrian man ran out carrying two steaming travel mugs.

"Myress, you forgot your telibras!" he called, referring to a hot Matrian beverage. He stopped as he approached them, then held the other mug out to Shurgroe, "I made one for you too," he added.

"Lt. Shurgroe, you know my husband Craigan?" Abela asked politely.

"Yeah, from the party a couple weeks back," Shurgroe nodded. Something about seeing a guy doing such a…such a wife-like thing seemed odd. 24th-Century, Josh, he reminded himself. And it's the Matrian way. "Thanks."

"Don't be gone too long," Craigan said, kissing Abela on the cheek.

"I'll comm if we're going to be gone more than two days," Abela kissed him back.

"Two days?" Shurgroe squeaked.

"You'd rather come back to your cozy apartment every night?" Abela asked, her voice slightly disdainful, "Perhaps we could reconfigure the transporters to do a site-to-site beaming?"

"Sure, that would be…" Shurgroe trailed off. He'd assumed that Abela's little display of, er, machismo, was just her way of showing off. Now, he was starting to suspect that there was a bit more too it.

She was challenging him. She wanted to see whether he, and by that extension the other Starfleeters, could actually man up and do something the hard way.

"Give me that pack," he said, grabbing the other rucksack off the sled and shouldering it. It was heavy! He tried to recall what he'd learned about these things at the Academy, assuming the Matrian version was similar. Let's see, over the head…lean forward…arms through the straps…aaannnnnddd…pull tight. Yes! He turned to Abela, a pleased expression on his face.

"Very good," Abela said dryly, "But you might want to put your gear in it first,"

DAMN!

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Captain Simplot rode the lift down from her apartment to the basement level. Basement, below ground, parking one, whatever you wanted to call it, it was the level just beneath the city's street level. It had been locked up during the initial discovery of Haven, but with the city now operation it was fully available. All the buildings seemed to be connected at this level, but Simplot hadn't explored beyond the pleasant corridor that led from her building to a staircase that would take her up to the Transit Hub, where she could climb the more ornate staircase up three more levels to the glass-walled crossover bridge that would take her to the interior of the Hub and to the lower lobby of the command tower. From there, she could take another lift up to Ops.

Once, when a small comet had set off Haven's proximity alarm, she'd commed Abela up to Ops. Somehow, the woman had managed to get all the way from her downtown apartment to Ops in about three minutes. Someday, Simplot would figure out how the hell she did that. For now, she didn't really mind the walk all that much.

Finally, she arrived in Ops. To her surprise, all that was visible through the lower windows was a smear of light grey cloud. A few Matrian techs were wandering around the second level, flipping through security feeds on the big viewscreens and tapping away at their padds. On the third-level command deck Fisett and two Starfleet crewmen was seated at the holo-table going over basic station procedures while Wyer hunched over one of the 12 control pulpits that ringed the outer edge of the deck.

"Mr. Wyer, how are you today?" Simplot asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. Wyer didn't respond. In fact, Simplot's touch was enough to start him sliding in his seat. She barely caught him before he could slide right to the floor. "Uh, a little help here!" she called.

One of the Starfleet crew, Ensign Kesser, rushed to help her. But by the time he'd gotten around the railing surrounding the holo-table, Wyer had already fallen to the floor, his head hitting the marble-like stone floor with a dull thud.

"How long has he been out?" Simplot demanded.

"Uh, he's been sitting there since we got in this morning!" Kesser said as the other crewman called for medical assistance, "We just assumed he was here all night,"

Simplot finished checking his vitals.

"Well, he's not dead at least," she said, "That would have looked bad on my record…dead crew in a matter of weeks!"

The turbolift doors below them hissed open and Dr. Annerson rushed up the stairs to the command deck, collapsing in Wyer's chair and breathing heavy.

"Oh Astral Dieties," she gasped, "I miss starship turbolifts,"

"The patient, Janet?" Simplot prompted.

"Does he have vital signs?" Annerson demanded.

"Yes,"

"Then he can wait until I catch my breath!"

After another moment or two of huffing and puffing, she climbed out of Wyer's chair and knelt next to the unconscious Yynsian. Pulling out her medical tricorder, she began scanning.

"Brain activity…respiration…" she muttered, "And that bump on the head won't help." She climbed to her feet.

"He's exhausted," she said, "and showing signs of stress. It looks like he passed out at work overnight. I'm not sure why he hasn't woken up yet though. I could give him a stimulant I suppose, but he's Yynsian, and as I recall they have some weird mind-stuff that happens sometimes."

Simplot was looking over Wyer's console.

"He's been working on the dome's weather control system, from what I can tell," Simplot said, "I don't know why else he'd have controls for humidity and barometric pressure. And it's, like, SO cool that we have a weather system, by the way. But he's been trying to figure out how to control the city's weather himself,"

"Oh," Annerson nodded, "so that's why it's snowing outside?"

Kesser and Simplot looked down at the greyish smear outside the lower windows.

"How can you tell?"

"The command tower clinic is on level 20," Annerson said, "And it has a window,"

"Oh,"

They sat in silence for a moment.

"So about the patient," Annerson broke in, "I suppose I should take him down to the clinic for observation,"

"Of course," Simplot nodded.

More silence.

"That means one of you has to help me carry him," Annerson clarified.

Simplot pointed at Kesser, who shrugged and grabbed the Yynsian by the feet.

"Don't be silly," Annerson said, "I'm an old woman, you're a strong young pup. You take the heavy end!"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

After helping Abela lug their gear into the front car of a transit tram, Shurgroe settled into one of the seats as she tapped away at her Traveller, a small padd-like device used as a sort of electronic Swiss-army knife by Matrian personnel. (She hadn't shared them with Starfleet yet.) After the device helped plan their route, she tapped it against the tram control console, instantly programming the tram with her desired route.

"I'm programming the tram to take us to Hillsbrook station," she said, "I'm pretty sure the library is somewhere in that area, either in the city or maybe in the inner rim."

"Hillsbrook?" Shurgroe asked.

Abela rolled her eyes.

"Tram station 8-Alpha, if you want the official designation."

"Alpha?"

"Sector 8, on the radial city track," Abela clarified.

Shurgroe still looked confused.

"You've been living here for weeks and you haven't figured out the transit system yet?" she demanded.

"I just tell the train where I want to go," he shrugged.

"No wonder it takes you Starfleeters forever to get anywhere," Abela grumbled. She tapped the 'Go' button on the console. The tram doors hissed shut and the cars lifted off the antigravity track. With a smooth hum, the tram accelerated along the curved track, the stone paneled walls of the Transit Hub passing by. The tram switched to the central track, picking up speed. It deftly switched to the inner track, continuing to accelerate as it bypassed the next two pairs of loading platforms. It then switched back to the outer track just in time to catch the track into an exit tunnel. Shurgroe barely had time to register the white space directly ahead before the tram rushed through at atmospheric isolation field and out into the city.

And into the middle of a blizzard.

Even Abela's jaw dropped as they took in the scene outside. Snow was blowing through the air, falling as fat flakes only to be blown around again by the whipping wind. Drifts were already building up against the downtown buildings as the tram rushed out of downtown and onto one of the six bridges connecting the island to the 'mainland'. An automated snow-clearing robot passed them, moving along the tracks in the opposite direction. The tram shuddered as the wind wailed through the bridge supports. Below them, the lake was a grey mass, the barest hint of ice starting to grow along the shore.

Shurgroe abruptly started shaking.

"Don't be a baby," Abela chided him, "It's not that cold. And I'm sure Mr. Wyer will have us back to sunny skies in no time."

"It's not the cold," Shurgroe gulped, "w-w-what if we get lost in the snow? I might l-l-lose a finger to frostbite. I don't wanna lose body parts!"

Abela considered briefly, picked up Annerson's blowgun and shot a dart into Shurgroe's left buttock. He calmed immediately, plucked out the dart and tossed it aside.

"I wish Janet had never found that thing," he grumbled.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

The tram turned onto the main radial thoroughfare through the suburbs, then slowed to a stop at a station in the south-west suburb. Technically, Haven's inner city wasn't large enough to contain suburbs, but the term was an easy way to differentiate between the central cluster of buildings on the island as opposed to the three main clusters that circled it. Pulling on their heavy parkas and their gear, Abela and Simplot opened the tram doors and stepped into the whirling snow.

"We need to go a block back towards the lake," Abela shouted over the wind, "There's a building there that I want to check!"

Shurgoe just nodded and followed the older woman. They pushed their way through the foot-deep snow, trying to read the street signs despite the haze. Shurgroe looked up. He could barely see the outline of the nearest dome support through the clouds. He was somewhat surprised to see that small hatches in the support itself were a major source of the falling snow. This of course led his engineering mind to simply wonder WHY Wyer hadn't simply turned off the snow generators yet.

It was colder than he expected. They were further from the lake, with the SW suburb blocking the airflow from that direction. Shurgroe pulled at the straps of his rucksack, trying to keep himself steady despite the slippery sidewalk beneath him.

Finally, Abela led him to a broad building. Unlike most of the gleaming towers, this building was made of brick and was only about six stories high, plus another six stories in a squat tower that sat on its roof. Smaller towers climbed from its corners. Climbing the steps to the pillared entrance, Abela tapped at the security panel then slipped inside as the glass-paneled door slid neatly aside.

"Hey-U," she gasped, pulling off her cap and brushing the snow out of her hair."

"Hey me what?" Shurgroe asked, rubbing his hands together in an effort to warm them up.

"Welcome," Abela replied, "to Haven University."

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Dr Annerson puttered around in her clinic, a small medical center roughly the size of an Intrepid-class sickbay located partway up the command tower in one of the six sub-towers that flowed out from the central structure. Haven had a proper hospital in the south-east suburb, along with several emergency facilities scattered through the outer rim. But the tiny population hadn't warranted a large enough medical staff to man anything bigger than the clinic. Seeing that Wyer was resting comfortably on one of the biobeds in the treatment area, Annerson settled into her office to review the data on Yynsian medicine. She ordered a tea from her replicator, then glanced out her window at the blowing snow and changed her order to a hot chocolate.

"Too bad you're not enjoying this view, Mr. Wyer," she said absently. Let's see. Unconscious, but stable. No apparent threat to his life, minor neurotransmitter anomalies. Hmmm. The Federation medical database had been loaded into Haven's medical computers within hours of Annerson stepping foot in the city, and it was telling her to check for reduced isoboromine in Wyers prefrontal cortex. She tapped a panel, routing the readings from Wyer's bio-bed to her desk terminal and wondering why Starfleet ships didn't have that handy little functionality. Yup, there it was. Low isoboromine. Hmmm…in Yynsians, that usually meant…

"Uh-oh," she muttered.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Up in Ops, Simplot was sitting at Wyer's console.

"I don't know if I should touch any of this," she said, "I mean, Wyer spent hours at this thing and all he managed to do was start a blizzard. Which…y'know…if he was trying to start a blizzard then he did a great job,"

Lieutenant Fissett was standing next to her.

"It's not like you could make things any worse," she said.

"I suppose you're right," Simplot shrugged, "But still, if I'm going to mess with his work, I'm going to mess with his work by the book. Where's his log? I need to document what I do,"

She hesitantly reached for the touch pad in the center control panel. One section of the big display immediately switched to Wyer's log.

"Excellent," Simplot said, pleased with herself. "Now, I'll just…wait, what's this?"

She read through the last entry in his log.

"Uh-oh, she muttered. She jumped to her feet.

"I've got to get to sickbay…the clinic!" she said, "Just…don't touch anything!"

With that she ran down the steps.

"I mean it," she called from the second level as she jogged along the outer perimeter of Ops to the next staircase down.

"Not a thing!" she called, rushing down the stairs and diving into a turbolift.

Fissett cautiously reached a finger towards the console. Kesser reached over and swatted it away.

"Do you really want to take the blame if things get worse?" he demanded.

Fissett considered, looked outside, then pulled her hand away from the panel.

"Thought so."

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Simplot rushed into the clinic after a minor detour once she found out she was in sub-tower 3 while the clinic was in sub-tower 2. She rushed through the doors and past the small waiting area only to find Dr. Annerson sitting next to Wyer sipping a cup of cocoa. Wyer was sitting up in his bed now, but something about him was…different. He was lounging back with his hands behind his head and a look of smugness on his face.

"Janet, I've gotta talk to you! It's about Wyer!"

"He's under the influence of a past life," Annerson said, sipping her team.

"He's under the…wait, how did you know that? I just read about his plan in his log,"

"This is Mat'dak," Annerson said, gesturing at Wyer, "he was a night-club bouncer on Yyns four hundred years ago,"

"Ma'am," Wyer/Mat'dak said, then belched.

"Plan?" Annerson prompted.

"Uh, Wyer's Yynsian, so he has past lives that sometimes bubble up to the surface," Simplot said.

"I know that,"

"So he was trying some kind of Yynsian meditation to bring one of them back." Simplot went on, "Fransie, a weatherman. Weather-person."

"Meteorologist?"

"No, she just pointed at the map while somebody read off the forecast," Simplot said, "But given the mess he's made of the city so far, I think Wyer was getting a bit desperate,"

"Can't blame him," Mat'dak said, "Do you know how long it's been since he got laid?"

"Quiet you," Simplot said, "So he didn't get the right past life. Any idea when Wyer will be back?"

"The medical file says he should come out of it in anywhere from a matter of minutes to a day or two," Annerson said, "In the meantime, we might see a few random lives popping up to the surface. I've requested a complete list from Yyns…some place called the Temple of Mi Clane has it. Until then, I'll keep him here for observation."

"Good," Simplot checked the time, "Then if there aren't any major crises happening, I have a lunch date,"

"A date?" Annerson leaned forward, "With who? Matrian? Starfleet? Do I know him?"

"Ditch him," Mat'dak cut in, "He's just using your rack to get into the VIP line. He'll be looking for the next best thing the minute he gets into the club,"

"It's not a romantic date," Simplot said to Annerson, "It's more along the lines of 'he must be destroyed'."

"I thought that was the fifth date," Annerson cracked.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

As the women talked, Mat'dak relaxed on his bio-bed. He was a calm man, after all it took a lot of self-control to be a successful bouncer. This little reprieve from the depths of Wyer's mind was nice, but he'd led a good, full life and was ready to rest.

Not all of the 14-odd lives contained in Wyer's life-force were quite so relaxed.

"It is MY turn!" a sinister voice cried from the dark ether.

"What's your hurry, buddy," Mat'dak replied calmly, "There's plenty of drink, plenty of wenches and plenty of song. Wait your turn."

"I will not be denied!" There was a brief mental assault; more a testing of the waters than anything else.

"Stay in line, buddy!" Mat'dak warned.

"Infidel!" hissed the other life-force, "I KILL you!"

In the outside world, Simplot was just taking her leave. Akakkat, one of the most feared terrorists of Yynsian history, sank back into Wyer's mind to contemplate his next move. Soon, he would live again!

Shurgroe looked around at the arching ceilings and gleaming stone pillars of the university. The smaller towers at the corners of the building were actually dormatories, Abela had informed him, while the main brick-work building housed classrooms and laboratories. The ornate central tower held the more up-scale lecture halls, staff offices and conference facilities.

"Keep up, Starfleet," Abela called. Josh pulled his eyes away from a door labelled 'Experimental Stealth Technology Laboratory' and hurried to keep up.

"Why are we exploring an empty university?" he asked.

"We're not exploring it," Abela said, "I've got the complete map and layout of the place on my Traveller,"

"Your what?"

"Nevermind. The point is that the university has its own extensive library,"

"So we're looking there." Shurgroe nodded, "Makes sense,"

"No, we're not," Abela corrected him, "Young man, think for a minute. Would we keep classified information in the same building as the majority of our drunken youth?"

"It works for Starfleet Academy,"

"No, we're looking for the university's main data conduits," Abela said, "I clearly remember that we'd located the classified library somewhere in this part of the city, because we'd used the same data trunk for both libraries."

Now Shurgroe was intrigued.

"You ran trunks as needed instead of building a full grid over the whole city?" he asked, his engineer's mind suddenly analyzing the pros and cons of that approach.

"Not bad, sonny," Abela said. Shed found a door leading down into the basement levels, "Now help me guide the grav-sled down the stairs without killing either of us!"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Captain Simplot stepped off the tram at Silverbrook Station. Located in the outer rim near Shipyard 3, Queen Anselia had renamed the station in honour of the ship that had helped push back the Qu'Eh invasion, much to Abela's dismay. Not wanting her uniform to tip Harrison off to her true identity, Simplot was wearing a flattering yet casual dress. Her hair, brown this week, was flowing over her shoulders and she'd indulged in just a hint of perfume. Well, to most people emptying half the bottle wasn't a hint, but it was definitely an indulgence! As she stepped out of the loading area and into the station lobby, Harrison strode up to her.

"You look fantastic, Janet," he said smiling. He himself was neatly dressed, cleaned up and pleasantly scented.

"Thank you," Simplot said, forcing out a smile, "But Harrison, what are we going to do in the Outer Rim? The city is empty! There isn't even a restaurant yet!"

"That's what you think, babe," Harrison smiled. He led her into the curved red and blue corridors and out towards Spaceside, the very outer rim of the Outer Rim.

Simplot's plan was simple: Get as much information as she could about this lazy good-for-nothing, then punish him for his insubordination. She'd already done some digging around in the Matrian databanks and had the perfect plan in place.

Harrison had led them to a turbolift that took them up a couple dozen levels before easing to a stop. Stepping back into the corridor he walked right towards a tall pair of frosted-glass doors. He tapped at the panel, interspaced with a series of breaks. One tap. Three. Five. Pause. Six. Pause.

135060, Simplot silently repeated to herself as the doors hissed open. Inside was a fully fledged Earth-style steakhouse. Simplot felt her eyebrows rising up in surprise. One wall of the restaurant was comprised of double-high windows looking out into Shipyard 3. Wrought-iron chandeliers hung from the ceiling and the furniture appeared to be made of heavy slabs of real wood. The inner wall contained not only a bar but also the food preparation area, a salad bar and even a modest buffet.

"Pretty cool, huh?" Harrison said, "The Silverado people got tired of waiting for the Matrians to actually start up some businesses in this place and started their own. Strictly off the books, you understand.

"That is SO…." So against regulations, Simplot wanted to say. But that steak DID smell really good. And she was undercover!

"SO cool!" she said instead, letting a little Valley High accent slip into her words.

He led her to a seat near the windows, but Simplot could barely restrain a gasp as she recognized the people sitting near by: Silverado's senior staff! If they recognized her, they could blow her cover!"

"Uh, let's find a nice quiet spot in a corner somewhere," she said instead.

Shrugging, Harrison led her to a more secluded spot.

"Sure hope they know what they're doing out there," he said, nodding out into the shipyard. Simplot glanced out. She assumed there was a ship somewhere in there, but if there was it was completely obscured by the cloud of hull plates, structural members, power conduits and other random ship pieces that floated around the zero-g shipyard like a metallic cloud.

"I'm more worried about what you can do…in here," Simplot said, rubbing one foot against the inside of Harrison's leg. Keep him off balance. Her foot was quickly approaching knee-level. Most men would be turning into a gibbering mess right about…now.

"I like where your…mind…is going," Harrison said instead, to Simplot's dismay.

"Can I take your order?" a waiter had interrupted at just the right moment.

"Let me see the wine list," Simplot said, yanking her foot away.

"Uh, beer," Harrison said, looking disappointed.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Half a kilometre closer to the lake and a few dozen levels down, Abela and Shurgroe had found their way into a maintenance corridor that followed the data trunk leading out of the University.

"It's like a maze down here," Shurgroe said. He'd pulled out an old-style PEN of all things and started making tiny doodles on the palm of his hand. At least until he had to clutch at his rucksack strap to steady the damned thing after he banged it against an exposed pipe.

"What are you doing, anyway?" Abela demanded.

"Oh, just a good-luck sigil I learned," he said, "It's just for…um…wayward travelers."

"Relax," Abela said, "You're perfectly safe!"

"I-I know. But better safe than s-sorry,"

Abela was quiet for a moment.

"I didn't know that human culture included magic," she said.

"M-most don't," Shurgroe said, "I mean, they all have their myths. But nobody seriously believes in it anymore,"

"But you do,"

"I b-believe that it doesn't hurt to be thorough."

"Hmmm." Abela mused.

"Do M-Matrians have anything similar?" he asked.

Abela looked over at him.

"Would it matter?" she asked.

"I'm always interested in learning new spells and sigils," Shurgroe replied.

"Even if they're not actually part of your culture?"

"The Federation is all about exploring other cultures," Shurgroe replied.

The lights in the corridor suddenly went dark. A second later emergency power kicked in. Their comm-badges crackled to life.

"Haven Command Complex to all personnel," Ensign Kesser's voice rang out, "No reason for serious alarm people, just a minor power outage. Also, we have a Yynsian running around the station under the influence of a past life! Confusing, I know, but if you see Wyer running around, STAY THE HELL AWAY!"

"We should return to the command tower!" Abela said.

"Transporter?" Shurgroe suggested.

"Starfleet might have perfected site-to-site beaming," Abela said quickly, leaving the data trunk and searching for a stairway to street level, "But when we did it, we usually just melted people into walls!"

"No transporter," Shurgroe gulped.

Abela was working another door panel. This one wasn't responding to the normal 'open' command. Finally, Abela entered her classified access code and the door popped open.

"What the heck is this?" Shurgor wondered as they stepped into the room. The place was big, at least three levels high. A large computer console took up most of one wall on their level, presumably linked into the data trunk. A hexagonal table dominated the center of the white-paneled room. Hundreds of rectangular Matrian data chips rested in softly glowing sockets on the table surface.

"Oh good," Abela said, "We found the data library,"

"This is IT?"

"What were you expecting?"

"Books! Piles and scores of books! Data discs! Non-volatile media!"

Abela rolled her eyes.

"Just how primitive do you think we ARE?" she demanded. She'd evidently located the master index, as she had her finger running down a list of items. Finding what she was after, she quickly located an isolinear data chip, removed it from the table, plugged it into the computer console and tapped a few buttons. The chip flashed sporadically, then went dark again. Abela returned it to its previous location.

"Wha?" Shurgroe asked.

"Everything on that chip, including the computer personality, has been transferred to temporary storage," Abela replied, looking for and locating the street level exit on an upper level balcony, "We can do the rest from the command tower, once we figure out what the problem is with Mr. Wyer."

She turned to Shurgroe, looking somewhere between annoyed and confused.

"You jump at shadows, Simplot has no concept of responsibility, the security man…well, I haven't even been able to find out his name yet, the lazy good-for-nothing. And now Wyer is possessed by a…a…past life?" she shook her head, "Are ANY of you people NORMAL?"

"If we were, this would be a pretty boring place?" Shurgroe offered, his tone making the statement sound more like a question.

"Let's go," Abela grumbled.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Kesser's announcement hadn't reached Shipyard 3. Simplot and Stoneryder were just finishing up their meals when there was a brief flicker in the lighting, followed by a gentle rumble as a nearby emergency generator kicked in.

"What was that?" Simplot sat up at once.

"Relax," Harrison said, "the Matrian engineers down there are still having some problems with the industrial replicator. It's cool,"

"Um, OK,"

Simplot wasn't entirely convinced. Excusing herself, she made her way to the ladies room.

"Simplot to Ops,"

Nothing.

"Simplot to Haven Command Complex," she sighed, "Report,"

"Lt Wyer is running lose," Kesser replied, "He set off some kind of power cascade in Atrium 4 that overloaded the grid, then he scurried into the lower levels!"

"I'll be right there," Simplot said.

"Don't you dare!" Simplot could hear Annerson's voice in the background.

"Janet, this isn't the time-"

"Franches and his jungle people are tracking Wyer," Annerson said, "Abela and Shurgroe will be here in a few minutes and power will be up in 15 minutes. Nobody was hurt."

Simplot hesitated. Then another thought crossed her mind: As chief of security, why the HELL was Stoneryder still sitting in the restaurant while Franches and the Matrians chased after a crazy Yynsian?

"You're right," she said coolly, "I'll be up shortly, but I need to deal with this personnel problem first,"

She quickly returned to her table.

"Everything OK?" Harrison asked, smiling.

"Oh, you know us girls," Simplot laughed. The laugh sounded fake, even to her. How could she get Harrison out of the restaurant and into a situation where he could be dealt with, and quickly? THINK, Liz, she ordered herself. What did show about this man? Lazy, negligent, former porn-star…wait-a-minute!

"You know, she said, trying to look mischievous, "A friend of mind had every single one of your holo-programs. She said her absolute favourite was this one where she had you in this dungeon setup,"

"Ahh," Harrison nodded, a gleam in his eye, "Pleasure-Mistresses of Andoria 3: The Revenge'," he said.

"It's too bad we haven't gotten around to setting up some holodecks aboard the city," Simplot sighed, "It sounded like fun,"

"Can you keep a secret?" Harrison whispered theatrically, leaning over the table.

"Sure can, big guy,"

"I've got my own little playroom hidden four decks from here," he winked.

"Perfect," Simplot grinned.

"The tram station's over there!" Shurgue shouted. The snow wasn't falling anymore, but it was still being whipped around by the chilling winds.

"Too slow!" Abela shouted back, "By the time we wait for a tram, get to the tower, climb the stairs and all there's no telling what that nutjob could do!"

"Then how…"

Abela led him into the nearest building and rushed straight for the elevator.

"Don't tell your captain about this little trick," Abela winked. She pulled out her Traveller, then spoke.

"Command Center, emergency priority," she pressed her thumb against the authentication panel in the turbolift, "Commit."

With that, the turbolift dropped straight down, then shifted into lateral movement, taking them towards the central tower at breakneck speeds.

"I knew it!" Shrugroe snapped as they shot into an underwater tube crossing the lakebed. Through the windows of the lift doors he could see the occasional clump of seaweed, "These elevators CAN move between buildings!"

"Only in emergencies!" Abela said sharply, "The rest of the time, you use the transit system like everybody else! "

Shurgroe didn't look happy.

"I know more about this city than anybody alive," Abela told him as the lift reached the vertical shaft leading up to the command complex, "If you want to succeed here as an engineer, you don't want to be on my bad side!"

"Good point," Shurgroe admitted. The car slowed then came to a stop. Abela rushed out into the command complex without paying him a second thought.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Lieutenant Franches adjusted the strap holding his bow to his back as he ran into Atrium 4, his team close behind them. Despite their primitive appearance, the long hair, the leather straps, the loincloths and the bows & arrows, they were just as technologically advanced as the rest of the Matrians. More so, actually, as their tribe had dedicated the last two hundred years to hiding away from the chaos of the Gender Wars and to preserving Old Matrian knowledge. But that line of exposition can wait. At the moment, Franches and his team were running into the Atrium. He wasn't sure what to expect as they stormed through the short corridor between the Transit Hub and the Atrium, so he was a little surprised to see Major Jakerd and a team of engineers standing in the middle of the empty, egg-shaped multi-story chamber studying an open panel.

"Which way did he go?" he demanded.

"The, uh, the security footage showed him running that way," Jakerd pointing, "towards the dressing rooms and prop storage!"

Atrium 4 had been designed to serve as a concert hall or theatre.

"No signs of damage," Franches noted as he looked around, "How did he- "

"He programmed a feedback surge into the sound system," Jakerd said, "And bypassed the cut-offs. If we'd been running the city at full power, he could have taken out the whole Atrium!"

"Starfleet treachery!" one of his team members, a wiry woman, snapped.

"So it seems," Franches said.

"They say he's just a bit…mixed up right now," Jakerd said, "But whatever the case, this guy sure hates art!"

Franches waved his team forward, giving chase.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Simplot rushed into the command complex and practically flew up the stairs. Abela, Annerson and Shurgroe were standing on the second level, the three huge screens nearest them showing security footage of Atrium 4 and the surrounding areas.

"Report!" she ordered.

"Hey!" Annerson said, "You're supposed to be taking care of-"

"He's not going anywhere for awhile," Simplot cut her off, "Besides, I thought it would be a good chance for some Starfleet/Matrian bonding later!"

"What?" Abela demanded.

"I got you a present," Simplot said, grinning, "And not some sacred statue this time, either!"

"But yes, I know, it's time for business!" she said, killing the grin before Abela could yell at her for not taking the situation seriously, "Janet, any idea how to get Wyer back?"

"I've mixed up a brew that should at least trigger the next past-life to pop out," Annerson replied, "I gave it to Franches and his team. Did you know they already have blow-guns?"

"Cool,"

"But we have a bigger problem," Annerson went on, "Wyer's records just came back from the Registry of Past-Lives at the Temple of Mi Clane,"

"The what from the where?" Abela asked.

"Yynsians really do carry past lives with them," Simplot explained to her, "It's an alien thing. You just learn to accept it, sooner or later,"

"Right," Abela scowled.

"Anyway, Wyer has 14 past lives running around in his head!" Annerson looked meaningfully at Simplot.

"So?"

"So the average is 6!" Annerson said, "Do you know WHY he has an extra 8 lives in there?"

"Sounds like he died a lot," Abela crossed her arms, "Which means he has plenty of practice for what I'm about to do to him!"

"No," Annerson said, "Worse,"

She paused.

"Enough with the suspense thing!" Simplot snapped.

"Eight of his previous lives were terrorists!" Annerson wailed.

Now Abela looked lived.

"You MUST," she said, her voice dripping with venom "be JOKING!"

"No," Annerson gulped, "From what I've seen in the records, we're dealing with Akakkat, a religious extremist known for bombing cultural centres to stop the spread of…uh," she consulted her padd, "Infidel heresy. But when he changes lives we might get Krebbot, a freedom fighter for a smaller Yynsian province that had a habit of bombing mass transit, or Refec, a suicide bomber from an old Yynsian civil war!"

"How did this guy get into Starfleet?" Abela demanded.

"Well, our recruitment policy says we can't discriminate based on past life experiences," Annerson shrugged.

"How would that even get into the rulebook?" Abela wondered.

"I imagine the Yynsians put it there," Simplot said.

"Don't worry," Annerson assured them, "We just have to catch him and keep him restrained until Wyer comes back.

"As long as he doesn't blow anything up first!" Abela snapped.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Wyer/Akakkat ran through the silver & grey paneled maintenance corridors deep below the Transit Hub. Akakkat had, in fact, been trying to rig an explosive resonance cascade in the power systems around the concert hall, but just enough to Wyer's influence had remained to ensure that only a relatively harmless power cascade resulted instead. Furious, Akakkat was now focusing almost all of his energies on burying the Wyer life-force as deeply as possible.

He took a left into a stairwell leading deeper below ground. Akakkat had spent much of his admittedly brief life hiding from the infidels; the underground environment was comforting. Unfortunately, he was focusing so much on repressing Wyer that he was completely unprepared for the mental assault of Refec.

The struggle was brief, and within minutes Akakkat was buried just as deeply as Wyer. Refec opened his eyes, alive again!

He quickly consulted Wyer's memories on this infidel flying monstrosity and formulated a new plan of attack.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Simplot, Shurgroe and Annerson had moved up to the command deck and seated themselves in the comfortable seats surrounding the holo-table. On the second level Abela was still shouting commands back and forth to Lieutenant Franches and his team. Her Matrian crewmen were pacing the ring-shaped second level, gazing intently at the double-high screens as they displayed shifting security footage.

"I have movement in Sector 3, Level 5-minus," reported one of them.

"Franches, get somebody to Sector 3, Level 5-minus," Abela snapped, "and I want the exits sealed to Sectors 1 and 4!"

A few minutes later, Franches reported back.

"He's not here, ma'am," he said, "He must have slipped out before the doors were sealed."

Simplot shook her head.

"These guys just don't know how to deal with this kind of thing," she said.

"Then why aren't you showing them?" Annerson asked.

"Wha?" Simplot started.

"Part of our mission here is to teach them what they need to become part of Starfleet, isn't it?" Annerson said pointedly, "I don't see how you're going to accomplish that if you're sitting around here muttering about how incompetent they are,"

Simplot blinked.

"You are absolutely right," she said, "I wonder why I never thought of that?"

"That's what you've got us for," Shurgroe shrugged.

"Hey, don't go stealing credit for my advice, cult-boy!" Annerson said.

As they began to bicker, Simplot rose to her feet and stepped purposefully toward the railing around the command deck.

"Colonel," she called down, "I want one of your people scanning for Yynsian life-signs on the lower levels. It's far more effective than tracking him by the security cameras!"

"The controls for that are right beside you," Abela shot back.

"I'm not that familiar with your systems," Simplot replied, "I need one of your people to help me here,"

Abela hesitated.

"Now, Colonel," Simplot said, lowering her voice.

"As you wish," Abela inclined her head, "Fissett, assist the Captain. "

The Matrian woman moved quickly up the steps and sat at the control pulpil next to Simplot. She tapped a few controls.

"There," she said.

Simplot looked at the screens surrounding the pulpit.

"I don't see anything!" she complained.

Annerson had moved to the railing and was staring down.

"Ahem," she cleared her throat, then pointed.

Simplot looked down, only to find that the lower windows had switched to holographic mode. They still showed the city, but the blowing snow was no longer visible, and the buildings appeared translucent, their internal rooms and passageways (at least those facing the command pod) now fully visible. A series of dots were scattered in the residential tower nearest them, and several more were moving through the Transit Hub down below.

"Wow," Simplot said, her eyes wide, "That's WAY easier than trying to squeeze a couple dozen decks worth of starship on a little screen! Can you zoom in on the Yynsian life signs?"

Abela turned, then leaned over the railing to face the nearest window. She snapped her fingers.

"Window L-3" she called. She then pointed both index fingers at the Transit Hub, and spread her arms. The window obediently zoomed in, adjusting transparency so that Simplot could now easily see five decks below the ring-shaped chamber.

"It's easy," Abela snapped, turning back to the security footage.

"But we still haven't found the Yynsian life-signs!" Simplot complained to Fissett.

"What are Yynsian life-signs?" Fissett asked.

"They're in the Starfleet database, dear," Annerson said helpfully.

"You two," Simplot said firmly, "Why are you still up here? Get down there and help them catch Wyer!"

Shurgroe gulped. Annerson took him by the arm and pulled him towards the stairs.

"Close your eyes, Josh," she said, "We'll be in the turbolift in a minute!"

As they passed Colonel Abela, Shurgroe cracked his left eye open just long enough to snag her Traveller from her belt.

That would make things easier.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Refec had spent a few more minutes maintaining the seemingly random route Akakkat had been taking through the lower levels of the Downtown island. Wyer's memories were not very detailed when it came to the layout of this strange place, but they did include a rough map of the city, including a series of passageways that led under the lake. When he came across one he immediately sprinted as fast as possible, putting as much distance between himself and the security team tracking him as he could.

After his sprint became a wheezy run and finally an exhausted jog, he came across a cross-corridor. From there, it was a simple matter to reach his goal: one of the city's three antimatter reactors.

Refec had lived and died during a time when Yyns had barely begun experimenting with fusion bombs, and so he wasn't familiar at all with antimatter. But his Wyer-o-pedia told him that it would make one hell of a big bang, which was exactly what he wanted.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Tissue salt content," Fissett muttered to herself as she adjusted Haven's internal sensors, "Bio-electric field micro-voltage. And…body temperature vs. heart rate graphs,"

There was a soft beep, then all the dots on the sensor displays vanished, save for one.

"Where is that?" Simplot demanded, doing the point & zoom motions that Abela had shown her to zoom in on the Yynsian life-sign. He'd already crossed the lake and was headed for a large, windowless structure.

"He's almost at one of our reactors!" Abela cried.

"Simplot to Shurgroe," Simplot tapped her badge, even as Abela relayed orders to her own team, "He's nearing reactor…um…reactor two! I don't think we're dealing with Akakkat anymore!"

"No," Annerson's voice came back, "From the profiles Yyns sent, I'd say we're probably dealing with either the suicide bomber, or the guy that sprayed antimatter at a police station."

Simplot was dumbstruck.

"Threw WHAT at WHO?" she demanded.

"Yyns had some dark, dark times," Annerson's voice came back, "Like Earth was much better?"

In a turbolift rushing beneath the lake, Shurgroe and Annerson were waiting impatiently as the seaweed outside shifted gently in the current.

"Do we r-r-really want to chase right after a suicide bomber?" Shurgroe asked.

"Not my choice," Annerson said, "But who knows what kind of problems he could cause if he decides to blow himself up in a public place!"

"Hmmm," Shurgroe thought for a moment, then tapped at Abela's Traveller. The turbolift picked up speed. Rather than shifting at the next cross-junction, it continued travelling towards the outer rim.

"Josh? The bad guy is back there!" Annersoner snapped.

"I have a better idea." Shurgroe said.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Refec stared in awe at the Matrian reactor stack that dominated the chamber he'd entered. The doors had been sealed, but the knowledge in his Wyer-o-pedia had allowed him to bypass the temporary lockout. Shaking himself mentally, he ignored the reactor column and instead moved to a series of small magnetic bottles stacked in a nearby storage rack. They were intended to transfer small quantities of antimatter between reactors, but would do just find for what he had in mind.

It was the work of minutes to fill a bottle and strap it to his tunic. Wyer's knowledge told him even that tiny amount, barely the size of a seed, was equivalent to an entire pack filled with TNT. A few minutes more and he had a primitive detonator. Perfect.

Now he just had to select the perfect target.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"He's on the move again," Fissett reported, manipulating Window L-2. "He's in a tram, heading for bridge three!"

"Sensors are detecting small quantities of antimatter!" cried another tech.

"Abela," Simplot asked, worried, "What would happen if we had an antimatter explosion in the Transit Hub?"

Abela's eyes widened.

"Depending on the size, it could shut down our whole public transit system,"

"That's not so bad," Simplot gave a sigh of relief.

"Or it could enough structural damage that the command tower and twelve surrounding sub-towers come crashing down in a giant fireball!" Abela finished.

Simplot's eyes bugged out.

"JOSH!" she screamed out, "You better have a plan!"

"Lock down the trams!" Abela snapped. Out the window, they watched Refec's tram slow to a stop, barely a quarter of the way over the bridge.

"We need to get down there," Simplot snapped, dashing for the stairs.

Abela's hand reached for her Traveller, only to find it missing.

"That little Starfleet sjikit," she grunted. "Fissett! Traveller!"

Without asking for details, Fissett unclipped her own Traveller from her belt and tossed it to Abela.

"What's that?" Simplot asked, following Abela into the turbolift.

Don't worry about it," Abela replied. She tapped at the Traveller, then tapped it to the turbolift panel. The lift dropped down the tower, then shot off to the side. In under a minute, the doors opened into a corridor near the edge of the Hub structure. Abela ran down the corridor to a maintenance exit, leaving them right behind one of the transit tracks where it exited the Hub. Just ahead of them was the atmospheric field that kept the outside weather outside.

"Hope humans are resistant to frostbite," Ablea said, forcing herself through the field and running along the tracks.

"Oh, sure!" Simplot said, following.

"He'll probably get past the door lock on the tram," Abela called out, "But hopefully that gives us time to catch him before he gets to the island!"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

It had indeed taken several minutes for Refec to open the doors. Control was becoming more difficult; access to Wyer's memories was taking far more effort than it had previously. His time was short.

Shivering as he stepped into the blowing snow, Refec looked up at his destination: the towering buildings of Downtown. He started running.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Colonel, we're in position at the other side of the bridge," Franches reported, "We're starting to move towards you,"

"Carefully, Franches!" Abela called, "Don't spook him! He could blow this entire bridge to pieces!"

"Better the bridge than Downtown, ma'am,"

"There he is!" Simplot called. Sure enough, they could see the small, dark figure of Wyer running towards them, right between the tracks. She pulled out her phaser.

"So, how do we actually capture somebody who has a bomb strapped to his chest?" Abela asked.

"I have no clue," Simplot replied.

"WHAT?" Abela demanded, "I thought you Starfleet types were used to stuff like this!"

"Well, suicide-bombing really isn't a very popular practice, you know!" Simplot shot back, "I suppose we talk to him and hope that Wyer regains control?"

"Why do you people even work with aliens like this?" Abela asked.

"I don't recall this sort of thing happening before," Simplot admitted, "But the notes on Wyer's file say that he's usually very stable. He's probably just overworked. Or maybe…" Simplot suddenly remembered the sound of Wyer's head hitting the deck after she'd accidently pushed him out of his seat. "Uh-oh,"

"Uh-oh?"

"Well…head trauma has been known to do this to Yynsians. And I sort of accidently pushed him out of his chair when he was passed out in it, right after he tried to summon a past-life with weather experience"

Abela thought this over for a moment.

"I suppose it's comforting that this sort of thing won't happen at random." She said.

"I'm glad you understand."

"But he will be wearing a crash helmet for the rest of his stay here!" Abela finished.

"STOP RIGHT THERE!" Simplot shouted, aiming her phaser at Wyer.

"Let me pass, woman!" Refec replied, his hand moving near a blinking control on his belt, "Or I will kill us all right here!"

"You're confused," Simplot said, "This isn't Yyns! Whoever you're angry at, they've been dead for hundreds of years!"

Refec/Wyer's expression wavered.

Abela's eyes flickered up at the bridge support. The bridge itself was supported by two columns of duranium that arched from the central island to the mainland, supported halfway by a pair of curving pillars anchored to the lakebed. Support cables stretched from the main columns to the bridge platform on which they stood. Barely visible was a single figure. Its long hair was blown behind it in the wind, and it wore a loincloth over a layer of long underwear. The figure was sprinting across the curved column, precariously balanced, a coil of rope over one shoulder.

"Keep him distracted," Abela snapped to Simplot.

"That's what I'm doing!" Simplot replied tightly.

"I know Wyer is in there," she said, "This is his body, and his life! You have no right to take it away from him!"

"He summoned us!" Refec replied.

"Actually, I'm pretty sure he just wanted the weather girl," Simplot yelled back.

"No," Refec replied, "He wanted our power! We will reshape this heathen place into our own image!"

"It'll be hard to do that when you're dead," Simplot pointed out.

"We will return! In another body! In another life!"

"Yeah, and by that time everybody will have forgotten about what you do here!" Simplot shouted back.

Abela just shook her head. What the hell kind of conversation was this?

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

High above them, Lieutenant Franches, freezing his butt off in the wind, had just finished tying the rope to the bridge support. He was only going to get one shot at this…

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"You're not getting off this bridge!" Simplot shouted, "You might kill two of us here, but there's no telling how many you'll kill if we let you into Downtown!"

"Then our conversation is at an end," Refec said, moving his hand towards the control on his belt.

"Wait!" Simplot shouted, "Uh, what about a suburb? Would that do?"

"HEY!" Abela snapped.

Refec seemed to consider.

"Is there a –YEAAHHH!"

His question was only half-finished when a blur swooped by, grabbing Refec/Wyer and flinging him off the bridge. Abela had seen Franches move into position from the corner of her eye, then jump from the bridge support, swinging like a pendulum straight at Wyer. Simplot however had been caught totally off guard. Abela dove at Simplot, pushing her to the bridge.

The bridge rumbled with the force of a powerful explosion, a column of water shooting up from the lake.

"Oh no," Simplot managed to mutter, right before the wall of water crashed onto the bridge, nearly washing them off the edge. Just before the water hit, Abela barely had time to see the figure of Lieutenant Franches flying through the air.

Funny, before the water hid him from sight, she could have sworn he was covered with sparkling lights.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"You two," Simplot said, draining her mug, "Are very lucky,"

"They're not the only ones," Annerson muttered, taking Simplot's empty mug and replacing it with another one filled with hot cocoa," Really, Liz? Running around outside in this weather without a jacket? Playing in the water when it's below zero outside? You're lucky you're just cold! You should have hypothermia and about four missing fingers!"

"There was a building near the base of the bridge," Abela said, sipping her own cocoa, "You've caused us a lot of problems, Mr. Wyer!"

In adjacent bio-beds in the clinic, Lieutenant Commander Wyer and Lieutenant Franches were bundled up in blankets; dermal regenerators strapped to their hands and feet where frostbite had taken its toll.

"You're both lucky Josh decided to make a break for the runabout," Dr. Annerson said, "If he hadn't been hovering right over the dome, we might not have been able to beam you out before the explosion!" She turned to Franches "Or in your case, before you hit the water with enough speed to break half the bones in your body!" Shurgroe, looking sheepish, had already returned Abela's Traveller. Expecting a minor explosion, he'd been somewhat surprised when instead she'd handed him a Traveller of his own.

"We're all lucky the vest didn't explode until it was underwater," Abela said, "The damage was minimal, and nobody was injured. But this could have been an unmitigated disaster!"

"I can't tell you how sorry I am, ma'am," he said sheepishly, "I didn't expect any of this to happen!"

"You could have told us before you tried," Simplot said, "And you might have mentioned that little thing about, oh, having eight extra past-lives because they all died violently!"

"I…ahem…it wasn't anybody's business," Wyer said , his voice becoming more confident.

"It wouldn't have been, if this hadn't happened." Abela joined in. "But it did. And now we know."

"There will be a reprimand in your file," Simplot said, "And don't pull this sort of thing again!"

She took Abela by the arm and led her out of the clinic.

"I still can't believe we're being so lenient with him," Abela grumbled, "I'd like to see him sent back to Yyns on the next transport; preferably in a stasis pod!"

"One of the biggest lessons we have to learn at the Academy is how to deal with other cultures," Simplot said, "It's not always so simple. And besides, he's a smart guy. We need him here."

"Yes, we need him to end this blasted snow storm," Abela grumbled.

"Can't we just call it 'winter' and enjoy it for a while?" Simplot asked, "I mean, a couple more days and the lake will freeze over enough for us to go skating!"

Abela considered.

"For a few weeks, perhaps," she allowed. She frowned. "But speaking of personnel problems, we need to deal with this Starfleet security chief problem. He should have been here to take personal command of this incident, not us!"

Simplot snapped her fingers. "I completely forgot!"

"What?"

"I have a surprise for you! Let's get Janet, then we need to head to the

Outer Rim!"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Lt. Stoneryder was a little tied up at the moment. Literally.

Thinking he'd been about to take part in a harmless, kinky little diversion, he'd led 'Janet' right back to his secret playroom, complete with chains, a few different costumes, a swing and even a fully equipped restraint cross.

Of course, he'd been somewhat surprised when, after tying him up, she'd headed right for the exit instead of the neatly hung line of 'torture' equipment hanging on the nearby wall.

After half an hour, he'd become convinced that she wasn't coming back. Another hour, and he was worried that she hadn't even told anybody where he was. He could be stuck there for hours, days even! Oh God, they might be finding his decayed corpse still tied up here, years from now!

Finally, after a small eternity, the door hissed open, revealing 'Janet' flanked by several other people.

"I don't want to see this," the man with strange shapes shaved into his scalp said, turning away. 'Janet' and her two remaining companions stepped inside.

"Janet, sweetie," he said, trying to smile, "If you were going to get some friends to play, you should have told me!"

"Wow," Abela said, one eyebrow raised as she surveyed Harrison's muscular build, "And he has…holographic programs, you say?"

"You told him your name was Janet?" Annerson demanded, smacking Simplot on the arm.

"Sorry Janet, I panicked!" Simplot shrugged.

"Wait, what?" Harrison demanded, looking at each woman in turn, "You're not Janet? Who are you?"

"I'm Captain Elizabeth Simplot, your commanding officer," Simplot said pleasantly," This is Colonel Myress Abela, my first officer. I believe you've been avoiding her for several weeks now?"

A look of panic came over Harrison's face.

"Um, if this is about-"

"This is about your COMPLETE disregard of my authority, and the disgusting SHIRKING of your DUTY!" Abela shouted.

"Franches and the Civil Protection-"

"Are here to handle city police work and Matrian affairs," Simplot cut him off, "And they are SUPPOSED to be working under your supervision and LEARNING from your EXAMPLE!"

"Look, OK, fine, I messed up," Harrision swallowed, "Can we say 30 days in the brig and call it even?"

"Oh, no, no, no, Harrison," Simplot said, "See, you're on a Matrian station, under Matrian law. And did you know that Matrian law allows corporal punishment?"

Abela pulled a whip from behind her back. Unlike Harrison's play-things, this one looked nasty, with tiny strips of metal embedded in the leather.

"W-wait," Harrison stammered, "You can't do that! Federation law-"

"In situations like ours, the Federation does try to make certain allowances for local law, at the commanding officer's discretion," Simplot said, "You're a security officer, you should know that,"

"B-but-"

"Now, I believe Matrian law requires a qualified doctor, to ensure no lasting harm is done?" Simplot asked.

"Present!" Annerson said brightly. She scanned Harrison with her medical tricorder. "He's fine," she said, "Besides, this thing of Abela's won't even leave a mark. It's all electronic,"

"And we need somebody licensed by the Matrian government to administer punishments?" Simplot asked.

"Me," Abela nodded, "Did you know that under Matrian law, you can actually legally hire an assassin, if you have the judge's approval?"

"Sounds like Andor," Annerson said pleasantly.

"So, Lieutenant Stoneryder," Simplot consulted her padd, "To beging with, we have 23 counts of disobeying a superior officer. That's got to be good for what…ten lashes, Myress?"

"Easily," Abela said, cracking the whip.

Stoneryder gulped.


	5. 5 - Size Matters Not

Star Traks: Halfway to Haven 1.5 – "Size Matters Not"

* * *

He was running down a corridor, the sound of metal tipped feet tapping behind him. The passageway seemed to stretch off forever; gleaming metal wall panels interspaced with access panels and lighting tubes. He glanced back behind him, terrified he would see one of those cold, metal faces gaining, just inches behind him.

He turned back just in time to see a pair of humanoid, metallic forms step out of a cross corridor that had just suddenly appeared right in front of him. Their four arms ended in wicked-looking tools, and there was a decided lack of mercy in their glowing red eyes. Even as he tried to dodge, one of them activated its plasma cutter, the glowing beam sizzling the air as it slashed right at his midsection.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Lieutenant Josh Shurgroe woke with a start and a cold sweat in his Inner Rim apartment. The bed sheets were tangled around his legs and his pillow was soaked with sweat. His hands went immediately to his stomach, searching for any charred flesh. Not finding (or smelling) any, he sighed with relief and fell back against the damp pillow. What a nightmare!

When he'd first learned that Haven's shipyards were meant to employ a small army of construction bots, overseen by a slightly smaller army of organic workers, he'd had no issue whatsoever. After all, the Federation had been employing robotic construction of one kind or another for centuries.

On the other hand, after reading a report on how Colonel Abela had reprogrammed hundreds of the bots to defend her hidden stasis chamber with lethal force, he'd suddenly found himself with issues.

Climbing out of bed, Shurgroe gathered his housecoat and padded down the hall to the small den he'd converted into a shrine. Abela could talk all she wanted about the elegance and status of living downtown, but his apartment out in Level 34, Building 42 of Haven's Inner Rim was at least twice the size of Captain Simplot's place downtown.

He lit five candles; one for Buddha, one for Xixnar, Andorian goddess of masochism, another for the Wiccan Alynna , a fourth for Zeus and a fifth for Persephone, the matron goddess of the Followers of Persephone. Big surprise, huh? He arranged them carefully at the points of a green pentagram drawn on his floor with the tree sap taken from what some believed to have been a Sacred Grove of the ancient Druids. A small poppet or voodoo doll of himself was arranged carefully on a table in front of him, surrounded by small pieces of fruit, a few coins and less detailed poppets meant to represent family or friends.

The Followers of Persophone were, to civilized society, a pack of raving nut-jobs who had taken a random assortment of superstition and somehow cobbled them together into a dysfunctional religion. The High Priestess of Vortos, their spiritual leader, tried to paint them as an all-inclusive group, willing to absorb any belief that would add to their whole. This had somewhat worked for a time, however their numbers had dropped drastically after a few attempted invasions of the Federation, courtesy of the Borg. (Assimilation and absorption had become suddenly unpopular around then.) Shurgroe had heard her speak in the basement of a hotel on Risa during shore leave, and had latched right on.

As the smoke from the candles drifted around him, Shurgroe pulled out a padd and tapped a button.

"Today's life goal:" the padd spoke, "Illuminate the malaise of the hyperborion wanderer,"

"Illuminate the malaise of the hyperborion wanderer," Shurgroe repeated to himself.

Dousing his candles, he grabbed himself some breakfast from the replicator (ignoring his spacious, gleaming kitchen), ate, then hopped into the shower.

"Hyperborion wanderer," he said again, running his fingers through his hair, "Illuminate that malaise. Hmmm."

As he pulled on his uniform, there was a flash of light through his bedroom window as the Matrian star slipped neatly over Haven's artificial horizon.

It was another day in the city, and Shurgroe had a lot of work to do.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Very nice, Mr. Wyer," Captain Elizabeth Simplot said, watching the sun rise from the Command Tower's Principle Conference and Observatory Deck.

"Hmph," Colonel Myress Abela grunted.

"And how long did you say it took you to make all the calculations?" Simplot went on, giving Abela an uncomfortable look.

"Two weeks," Wyer said, "keeping in mind our orbit relative to Matria Prime, the rotation of the city itself, the shadow of the planet,"

"We're going to lose daylight every time our orbit takes us back around the night side," Abela interrupted, "Re-work your equations and compensate,"

"B-but!" Wyer objected, "There's nothing we can do about that, short of moving into a polar orbit! It took weeks just to get a sunrise and sunset every day at the right times!"

"Not good enough," Abela said firmly, "Starfleet's supposed to be creative. Start creating! Now get out of my sight!"

"Yes, ma'am," Wyer mumbled, shuffling out of the room.

"You really didn't-" Simplot started.

"I have to meet the Minister of Labour in Transporter Bay 23 in fifteen minutes," Abela said, "I really don't have time to argue over it,"

"Speaking of, why didn't you people install transporter rooms here in City Hall? Why are they wayyyy the hell out in the Outer Rim?"

"First, NO!" Abela snapped, "Bad Starfleet! This is the Command Tower, NOT 'City Hall'!"

"Fine. What about the transporter bays?"

"Security," Abela said, "And we have six transporter bays below the tower, in the high-security decks. They just aren't for public use,"

"About that too," Simplot spoke quickly as Abela stepped into the turbolift, "When are you going to show me around down there?"

"Later," Abela said, hitting the manual door close. The fancy wood and glass doors of the C&O level rolled shut. Simplot watched as the turbolift dropped out of sight.

"That woman is a bitch," she sighed.

Time to head down to her office. Maybe Shurgroe would have some good news for her.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Thousands of light-years away, the USS Roadrunner was cruising along at a brisk Warp 7. In the tiny bridge, Lieutenant Cindy Mytim tapped at the science console.

"We're leaving the space covered by the Wuyan star charts," she reported, "continuing sensor sweeps."

"Very good, very good," Acting Captain Taylor Virgii replied, sipping at his cup of tea, "Mr. Boxer, anything on the tactical sensors?"

No reply.

"Mr. Boxer?" Virgii repeated. He slowly became aware of a soft sound. He turned around to see Boxer stretched awkwardly to one side, one leg scratching up at his side, his lips pulled back in a strange grimace.

"BOXER!" Virgii snapped, "Dear lord, man, pull yourself together!"

With a yip, Boxer immediately straightened out, hand-paws reaching out for his panel. The sudden motion put him off balance, his hand-paws suddenly flailing as he slid halfway out of his seat. Outside the bridge windows, a single photon torpedo sped off into the distance.

"Oopsie," Boxer gulped.

"Mr. Boxer!" Virgii shook his head, "We are now in uncharted territory! We are far from home, and we depend on you to warn us of danger! You are our William Tell! Our DEW line!"

Boxer looked blankly back at him.

"Our...guard dog," Virgii finished lamely.

"Oh!" Boxer's ears perked up, "Yessir, Mr. Virgii! Captain Virgii! I sure am! Don't worry, with Bull's-Eye Boxer on the case we'll see those bad-guys, no matter now far-"

"Sir, we're being approached and hailed by an unknown vessel," Mytim cut in.

Virgii and Boxer stared at each other for a moment.

"Mr. Boxer?" Virgii prompted, "your panel?"

"Hmmm?" Boxer turned back to the tactical panel, "Oh yeah. A ship has matched velocities two thousand meters from us and wants to talk,"

Virgii clenched his teeth.

"On screen,"

A blob of something...something purple appeared on the screen.

"This is unintelligible bubbling of the trader more unintelligible bubbling," the blob spoke, "We are but humble merchants, eager to trade our wares. Might we interest you in visiting our on-ship demonstration bay?"

"Thank you for your kind offer, but I think not, no," Virgii said immediately, "We appreciate your hospitality, and wish you a pleasant day."

He turned to Mytim.

"End transmission," he said pleasantly.

She stared at him for a moment, not moving.

"Oh very well," he muttered crossly, examining the panel next to his chair until he found the cut-off button.

"They're resuming their previous course," Boxer reported.

Mytim continued staring at Virgii.

"Is there a problem?" he finally asked.

"What did you do that for?" she asked. He voice remained very calm, but there was a degree of ice in her words that wasn't normally present. Not ice as in 'cold shoulder', but ice as in 'sharp, steel-tipped icicle'.

"Virgii's Law #4," Virgii said proudly, "'A Federation starship more than one thousand light-years from friendly space will not engage in unnecessary commercial transactions'. It's just asking for trouble."

"It wouldn't have hurt to have seen what they're selling," Mytim said, keeping her voice carefully controlled.

"But it could have, my dear," Dr. Strobnick added confidently from his panel, "There's a mathematical formula to the matter. Consider the number of..."

As Virgii droned on, Mytim glanced at the chrono, just wondering when this blasted day would end.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

A few hours later Mytim was able to turn her panel over to Ensign Kilpatrick, a far-too-cheerful Bolian on Beta shift. Squeezing her way off the cramped bridge and down the gangway to Deck 2, Mytim fumed over Virgii`s arrogance. The man could not be reasoned with! Another gangway took her to Deck 3 and her quarters. The door hissed open and Mytim stepped into the small room. Her narrow bunk was up against one wall, directly beneath a set of storage shelves and next to the small closet. Across from it was the narrow door leading to her shared bathroom along with a chest of drawers. Her desk took up the outer wall, looking out through a pair of windows into space. The Roadrunner was a small ship, even smaller than the Defiant-class ships. The designers had made some effort to make it more comfortable, but the rooms were still small and utilitarian. Aside from the astral view, it was almost as bad as living in the Academy dorms again! And she had no scented candles, no delicate cloth wall hangings and no objects d'art to class up the place and give it that atmosphere she wanted.

With a small sigh, Mytim grabbed a padd and loaded up a good book. She sat at her desk and began to read.

And just as quickly got back up again. No, that wasn't comfortable at all. She daintily sat on her bunk. Slid back to lean against the wall. Tried propping herself up with a pillow.

"This is...this is...most distressing!" she said delicately, jumping to her feet and charging out of the room.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Aboard Haven, Lt. Shurgroe was becoming equally frustrated.

"Look, I don't want much," he said, addressing a burly Matrian woman, "I just want a status update on the work you people are doing and a look around the shipyard!"

"The shipyard is closed to all non-shipbuilders," she replied, "Classified project, top secret,"

"Y-you're rebuilding a Starfleet Ambassador-class starship," Jeffery said, "And I'm your Director of Shipbuilding!"

"If you tell anybody what we're doing here, I'll have you killed immediately," the woman snarled.

Shurgroe gulped.

"I...I'd like to see you try?" he forced out.

She took one menacing step towards him.

"I'm going, I'm going!" he squeaked, turning tail and fleeing. A few minutes later he was back at Silverbrook Station, the closest tram station to Shipyard 3.

"You're not being very helpful today," he muttered, running his fingers through the confidence charm he'd shaved into his head the night before. He checked his chrono. By the time he'd met Simplot for the morning, checked on some work being done in Docking Bay 4 and the refurbishment of Docking Port 43, most of his morning was gone. He'd intended to invite Lt. Cmdr Jeffery and the Major Dekair, the Matrian Master Shipbuilder in charge of yard 3, for lunch to try to break down their wall of silence.

As he rode the tram back towards Downtown, he realized that maybe he should have called ahead first.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Ten minutes later, Shurgroe walked into Dr. Annerson's office.

"Hi Josh," the pleasant, middle-aged woman said, "Here for a refill on your meds?"

"No, no," Shurgroe shook his head, "I have plenty of those. What I don't have is a way into the shipyards! Those Matrian women keep kicking me out!"

"Have you tried talking to Colonel Abela?"

Shurgroe bit his lips.

"I don't wanna," he said after a moment, "She's...she's sort of the type that expects you to take care of your own problems. And I'm sort of on her good side right now,"

"Hmm. Don't tell Wyer that. He'll be jealous."

"What? Why?"

"Never mind," Annerson waved a hand, "So why are you coming to me? I'm a doctor, and Captain Simplot said I'm not supposed to hand out any more tranquilizer blowguns,"

"Lunch," Shurgroe said simply, giving her a blank look.

"Oh, shall we dine at the McBaughb's, the Double 'D' Diner, or Wonka's Chocolate Factory?"

"We have a Chocolate-"

"There are no restaurants open on the station yet, Josh," Annerson cut him off, "And I'm not eating in the CT Cafe today!" The CT Cafe was a cafeteria-like replimat located on Level 15 of the Command Tower.

"Why?"

"Because Liz had a sign made that says 'City Cafe', and as soon as Abela sees it she's going to tear us all new bodily orifices. Orifi? Whatever,"

"But I'm hungry!"

"Stop whining, Josh!" Annerson sipped her coffee, "Did it cross your little mind that maybe the real reason you're here instead of in Shipyard 3 is because complaining to me is so much easier than actually doing something?"

"So that means no lunch?"

"It means, Josh, that maybe you should take some firmer action than just standing outside their door, begging to be let in." Annerson sat back in her seat, crossing her arms.

"Like what?"

"They want you to be a shipbuilder, right?"

"Well, ya,"

"Then go build something!"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Mytim had sat in every chair in the Roadrunner's cramped lounge, in at least two different positions.

The lounge was opposite the mess hall, towards the front of the ship. It was tiny, like the mess hall, about twice the size of Mytim's quarters. Only two other crewmembers were present, one of whom looked strangely at Mytim as she tried to get comfortable.

Finally giving up, Mytim tossed the padd into a disposal and started looking for Laarthi.

She found her on Deck 4, working on an illuminated rack in one corner of the small cargo bay.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to grow something edible," Laarthi replied, her tail swishing in pleasure despite the clear lack of anything living in what Mytim could now see was a hydroponics rack, "And how are you spending your free time this evening?"

"Wishing for a properly designed chair," Mytim sighed, "This ship is just so...just so...bland! There's no grace, no elegance!"

"Replicate one," Laarthi suggested.

"An elegance?"

"No, a chair!"

"And place it where?"

"Hmmm. Good point,"

"I'm accustomed to a certain level of luxury," Mytim went on, "But ships this size aren't about luxury. We're supposed to be in a Starbase right now, orbiting a friendly planet filled with luxury goods for sale, and Virgii won't even let us trade or shop anymore!"

"What?" Laarthi spun around, "How am I supposed to get more seeds or better equipment if we can't barter?"

"He claims that we're more likely to get attacked if we keep stopping to talk to strange races,"

"Well," Laarthi had to admit, "He has a point,"

"Maybe he does," Mytim admitted, "But sooner or later, we're going to need supplies. And do you want to be haggling for them because we're on the verge of running out?"

"I think you're over-reacting again," Laarthi said calmly, walking over the the replicator. "Two units of fertilizer mixter Laarthi 21-B,"

The computer beeped.

"Request denied," it said. Then the voice changed to a digitized version of Virgii's British accent. "Virgii's Law #5: Save now, Have later,"

Laarthi's left eye twitched.

"I have a plan," she said.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Back aboard Haven, Shurgroe was locked in Lab 4 in the Department of Shipbuilding tower. One of the six towers attached to the Command Tower, the DoS tower contained administrative and research space to support the shipbuilding facilities in the Outer Rim. It was also very empty, like most of the city. Only the Department of Police and External Security tower was quieter, as the Civil Protection Team was operating out of one of the smaller buildings in the suburbs and Lt. Stoneryder couldn't be bothered to climb the stairs up into the DoPES lobby.

In any event, Shurgroe had complete privacy and access to an impressive array of replicator patterns, tools, materials, micro-construction bots and everything else you'd expect for researching and modeling starship designs. A Matrian shipbuilding bot was powered down in one corner, but Shurgroe had given the creepy thing a wide berth.

"D-DoDO to D-DoS," his comm-badge chirped. Shurgroe frowned at the strange message, then chalked it up as a malfunction in the comm system. On the table in front of him, a spherical framework about the size of a medicine ball was quickly taking shape. A tiny computer processor was already affixed to the inside, and Shurgroe was in the process of attaching a series of tiny anti-gravity units.

"Lt. Wyer to Lt. Shurgroe,"

"Shurgroe here,"

"Why didn't you answer my last comm?" Wyer asked calmly.

"Y-You tried comming me?"

"I'm D-DoDO. You're D-DoS," Wyer reminded him.

"That's just too confusing," Shurgroe said, "Keep that up, and all our wandering malaises are going to need alleviation,"

There was a long pause.

"What?"

"Nevermind. Shurgroe out," he went back to work, replicating a series of tiny phaser arrays.

"Wyer to Shurgroe,"

"Yes?"

"The reason I was calling," Wyer sounded tired, "Is that I need half a dozen construction bots for 45 Bahkar Street. The pool wasn't drained before the city was hidden, and now it's frozen. The ice is buckling part of the penthouse suite ceiling."

"T-t-t-thats your job. Inside the city stuff,"

"I am aware of that. However the construction bots are all assigned to Shipyard 3. I can't get any without your authorization,"

"I'm...er...working on my authorization right now," Shurgroe said, fixing the first phaser emitter into place.

"Please hurry," Wyer said. He sighed, then dropped his voice, "Abela is already on my case over resale value,"

"Seen," Shurgroe said, holding back a giggle, "Let me get back to you tomorrow,"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Aboard the Roadrunner, Laarthi and Mytim were waiting in the tiny conference room for Virgii.

"I traced the course of the trading vessel here," Laarthi said, pointing to a planet just off their projected course, "I've also detected trace amounts of dilithium here," she pointed to another start system, off their course in the opposite direction, "and here," she pointed back at the first planet.

"I scanned those systems. There was nothing," Mytim said.

"There is now that one of the sensor arrays is out of alignment," Laarthi said, "We send Virgii and the Roadrunner to check out this system, while we take the shuttle back along the merchant-ship's route and find something to buy,"

At that moment, the doors swished open and Virgii stepped in.

"Ladies, always a pleasure to set aside some of my personal time in the line of duty," he said, taking a seat.

Five minutes later, Virgii was interrupting their little briefing.

"No, no," he said, "Virgii's Law #4 clearly states that a Federation-"

"Virgii's Law #8 states that anytime you see dilithium, you should grab it immediately!" Laarthi interrupted.

"There's no such law!"

"There should be! We run out of that stuff, and we're dead in the water!"

Virgii hesitated.

"Think of it in turns of cost vs. savings," Mytim jumped in, "The fuel cost for this detour is insignificant. But even half a kilo of dilithium could stretch our power supplies considerably.

"Very well," Virgii said, "But you will stay in constant contact with me! I will authorize every aspect of your excursion, and-"

"Thanks, we'll be in the shuttle!' Mytim said, grabbing Laarthi by the arm and heading out.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

The next day, Shurgroe strode confidently out of Silverbrook Station and down the corridor to Shipyard 3. His medicine-ball sized construction hovered over his right shoulder, a small control box clenched in his right hand. Those guards wanted to see his building skills? Here they were.

"Good morning ladies," he said, approaching the guarded yard entrance, "I brought a little surprise for you,"

"What is that thing?" one of the demanded.

"The Death Star!" Shurgroe said proudly.

"The what?"

"Oh, umm...I-it's from an old Earth classic. It's a giant space station that destroys planets. Or a model of one, anyway. See?"

He pressed a button and a series of green beams shot out of a large dish on the upper surface of the sphere, converged, and speared out to hit one of the women square in the chest.

"Tingles a little," she said, annoyed.

"So there. I built something. N-n-now let me in?"

The guard laughed. Then she reached out and tousled his hair. Like he was a kid brother that had just shown her a neat trick!

"Nice try, little guy, really. Tell you what, I'll tell Major Dekair you stopped by, OK?"

"N-no," Shrugroe force out, "I need half a dozen construction bots for a project in the city!"

"You're really not in a position to be asking for favours, pip-squeak,"

"Aren't I?" Shurgroe twisted a control and the Death Star rose over his shoulder and flew towards the guard. There was a hum as it's weapon system prepared to fire again, this time at higher power.

With a move that would have made a basketball player proud, the closest guard reached out and slammed the model station down as through to dribble. Instead of bouncing, the lower quarter of the model smashed to pieces and sparks flew as the power cell shorted out.

"Oh...crap..." Shurgroe muttered.

"Try again tomorrow, kiddo," the guard chucked as he picked up the scattered pieces.

"Oh, I will," Shurgroe muttered, "I sure as 'H', 'E', double hockey sticks will!"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"This is shuttlecraft Little Beeper to bridge, requesting departure clearance," Lt. Laarthi said into the comm, sitting properly at the shuttle's pilot station.

"Releasing docking clamps," the voice of Dr. Strobnick came back, "Do watch out for the ring nacelle when you depart.

"Hard to miss it," Laarthi said. Indeed, the upper half of the shuttle's window was dominated by the inner side of the Roadrunner's quantum slipstream nacelle. There was a metallic-sounding THUNK as the clamps holding the shuttle in its socket on the upper rear of the Roadrunner's main hull retracted. With a puff of manoeuvring thrusters, the shuttle eased free of the larger ship, then flew clear.

"Three days without having to listen to that overblown, pompous windbag," Laarthi sighed, "You know, I didn't realize until now just how badly I needed it,"

"If I don't hear his voice once, it'll be a successful trip," Mytim agreed.

"Course is set. Engaging warp drive,"

"Virgii's Law #7," the computer abruptly spoke, "Haste makes waste. Please select a lower warp factor,"

"Chief Engineer's override," Laarthi said, "Authorization kilo, tango three fifty-four,"

The computer beeped, then went quiet.

"It appears you do have a few perks with your new position,' Mytim observed.

"If only shutting up the real thing was as easy,"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

The next morning, as Mytim and Laarthi were still warping to their destination, Dr. Annerson was walking through the paneled hallways of the Command Tower, a tray of food balanced on one hand and a map padd in the other. If only the city had been built with one of those neat 'follow the lights' guide systems! Of course, maybe it had been, but nobody had gotten around to activating it yet.

In any event, she was trying to find her way to the workship where Shurgroe had apparently been working all night. He'd missed the staff briefing that morning, sending a message saying that he was working on something important. Captain Simplot had seemed willing to let the matter drop, but Colonel Abela had tracked his message to the source and insisted on sending somebody to 'handle' him.

She reached the end of the long corridor taking her from the central Command Tower to the DoS tower. A series of transparent aluminum security doors had been propped open, more evidence that the building wasn't seeing much use. After moving past a deserted security desk and navigating a short maze of smaller hallways, she found herself at the entrance to Laboratory Workshop #4.

"Josh?" she called, "Are you in there? I brought breakfast!"

There was a sort of mumbled reply...nothing she could make out.

She juggled for a moment, trying to get a hand free enough to hit the door control. Finally she grunted, purposefully dropped the map padd and opened the door.

"I said don't come in!" Shurgroe said frantically, trying to shield something from her with his body.

"Why not? Are you working on another sex-bot?" Annerson tsk'ed, "Really, Josh, wasn't getting your thingy stuck the one time bad enough?"

"It's nothing like that," Shurgroe muttered, his face turning beet-red, "And that wasn't a sex-bot. It was a...it was a...was a...um. Educational aid?"

"Uh-huh," Annerson winked. She noticed something on one of the other workstations in the room. It looked like a half-smashed globe. "Having some trouble?"

"It's those shipyard women again," Shurgroe said glumly, "I thought that if I built something, they'd take me seriously."

"Didn't work?"

"Nope,"

"So whatcha doing now?"

Shurgroe, looking like he was about to give up the combination to the vault containing his life savings, reluctantly moved to the side, revealing his newest project.

Annerson's jaw dropped as she looked at the model. Nearly a meter across at the base, it was shaped like a metallic, horizontal snowflake; six pier-like platforms attacked at the center, each of them supporting a cluster of glittering metal-and glass towers. The central section, where the piers joined, contained the biggest cluster of towers, dominated by a single spire that thrust up above the others.

"Another Matrian city?" she asked. Even as she said it, she could see the architecture was all wrong. The model was grey and metallic, while Matrian architecture emphasized stone in blue and red colours. The model also lacked any greenery, essential to all Matrian designs.

"No. More Earth science-fiction," Shurgroe said, "Like the Death Star," he nodded at the half-smashed globe, "It's the city of Atlantis. Or at least a fictional version of it." He hit a button on a control panel and the city eased off the table, hovering in the air. Another button and a hazy shield appeared around the model city. "Some tricks with holograms and forcefields, but at least this one'll be harder for them to smash,"

He tapped a few more buttons and the city returned to the workbench.

"I just have a few more tweaks to make, then I'll show those bi...um...those mean girls who the master builder is!"

"Well, have some breakfast first," Annerson advised, "Then you can worry about flying your little city around the...city...later."

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"This is the Federation shuttlecraft Little Beeper," Mytim said calmly, "Requesting landing pattern.

"Little Beeper, this is gurgle control," a watery-sounding voice, similar to the blob they'd encountered before spoke, "Nature of your visit?"

"Shopping!"

"Are you bringing any fruits, meats or nuts onto the planet?"

"No fruits, no meats," Mytim replied, "And we left the nut back on our other ship,"

"Our sensors are detecting one hundred and twenty kilograms of meat aboard your ship," the voice replied.

Laarthi and Mytim exchanged a confused look.

"Uhhh...there's nothing in here but us," Laarthi said.

"Ohhh...you're carbon-based bipeds?"

"We are,"

"Why didn't you say so? Just be sure you get a flesh receipt on your way through customs. Transmitting landing co-ordinates now,"

"Suddenly, I'm questioning whether or not this is a good idea," Laarthi said.

"There is no possible way the two of us weigh more than one hundred and ten kilos," Mytim said.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"OK, here are your flesh receipts," the amorphous blob behind the counter said pleasantly, "Now, your reason for visiting is commerce. Which of you is the merchant, and which of you is for sale?"

"I..what...we..." Laarthi stammered.

"Kidding, kidding," the blob said, jiggling like a bowl of jello, "I never get tired of that one. OK, everything appears to be in order. Enjoy your stay on gargle-blat. And if you can correctly pronounce the name of our planet within 48 hours, you get a free dinner at gurgle-mumble!"

"How charming," Mytim smiled insincerely, then grabbed Laarthi by the arm.

"First stop, furniture," she said, "I need a chair that doesn't force my back into new shapes."

"Second stop, fertilizer," Laarthi said.

They stepped out of the spaceport and found themselves confronted with a skyline of towering buildings, a web of streets and passageways and about three hundred anxious cab-drivers, eager for a new fare.

"First stop, a map," Laarthi amended.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Shurgroe walked confidently down the corridors between Silverbrook Station and Shipyard 3, the model of Atlantis following him like an obedient puppy. Well, OK, as far as Shurgroe goes, his walk was pretty confident. Most people wouldn't notice anything out of the ordinary.

In any event, he approached the same set of blast doors guarded by the same two Matrian security guards.

"Hey kiddo," one of the said, "Bring anything new this time?"

"Sure did," Shurgroe said. Atlantis hovered around the corner and came to a stop in front of the guards, turning slowly on its axis. Shrugroe had the distinct pleasure of watching the taller guard's jaw drop in surprise.

"Very nice," she finally said, admiring her reflection in the windows of a tiny building, "Could do with a lake. Or some grass. Or something other than metal. But not bad. " She stepped back, allowing the second guard to take a look.

"Tell you what," the first guard said, "I bet Major Dekair would be interested in seeing what makes this thing tick. We'll take it to her, then see if she'll meet you in, oh, say tomorrow?"

"How about I take it to Major Dekair, and she can meet with me now," Shrugroe said. "I-I-I am h-her boss, after all,"

"Uh-huh, whatever," the second guard said. She reached out, grippeing one of the tiny buildings near the edge of the model. With a small snap, the tower broke off.

"Oops," she said, smiling "Did I do that?"

"Bad move," Shrugroe said, tapping a button. A domed force-field appeared around the model, zapping the guard's fingers before she could do any more damage. Tiny hatches opened on the model, and a swarm of what looked like glowing, holographic fire-flies flew out, swarming straight at the offending guard.

"Hey!" she snapped, slapping at the tiny lights as they sparked against her skin, 'That HURTS!"

She swung her phaser rifle like a bat, trying to knock the attacking model to the ground. There was a brief flare of sparks as the force-field repelled the attack, then another swarm of holographic fire-flies burst out of the model and flew at the guard.

"Pretty cool, huh? Shurgroe said, "I installed a holo-generator for the effect,"

"OK, fine!" the first guard snapped, taking a step back, "Turn the damned thing off and we'll take you to see Major Dekair!"

"Deal," Shurgroe said. He tapped the 'standby' button on the model remote.

Instead of floating gently to the ground, Atlantis unleashed another attack, this time at the first guard.

"I SAID CALL IT OFF!" she called, wincing as tiny balls of energy popped against her arm.

"I'm trying!" Shurgroe cried, frantically slamming his finger against the 'OFF' button, 'it's not responding!"

The second guard fired her phaser, the beam crashing into the model's shield. The model ducked around a corner, a steady stream of energy balls flying towards the phaser rifle until it sparked and went dead.

Then, quiet.

Shurgroe and the two guards looked at each other, then Shurgroe carefully peaked around the corner.

Atlantis was gone.

"Uh-oh," he groaned.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Mytim and Laarthi collapsed, exhausted, into a pair of chairs in what they hoped was a restaurant. They were surrounded by the blob-like citizens of the planet, gurgling happily away in chairs that looked more like egg-cups. And they were extending tentacle-like extrusions of themselves around object on the nearby tables and seemed to be eating them. Mytime and Laarthi, the only two bipeds sitting in the more conventional off-worlder section, assumed they were eating.

"Twenty-five stores and not one acceptable chair," Mytim said, fluttering one hand delicately, "How...dissapointing!"

Laarthi's tail swished around angrily as she tapped at her tricorder.

"And the only acceptable source of fertilizer was their equivalent of a funeral home," she hissed. A passing waiter expelled a pair of menus from itself with a wet 'blurp'.

"Virgii's Law #9: Avoid speaking to planetary citizens. It usually just makes them angry," the tricorder spoke. Laarthi responded by tearing out the device's tiny speaker.

"And that's not helping!" she snapped.

"I wish I could say that we should just try again in the next star system," Mytim sighed dramatically, "However, we both know that Virgii will never allow it,"

"I'm not hungry anymore," Laarthi said suddenly, her gaze flickering between the incomprehensible menus and the bizarre goop the other customers were...absorbing. "Let's just go back to the shuttle."

"Very well,"

They stood and left. As they walked down the broad avenue leading back towards the spaceport, Mytim was overcome with a wave of frustration. This was all, totally and completely, Virgii's fault. And what could they do about it? Nothing! The man was in command...more than that, they'd practically forced him into command. There was no Starfleet HQ to replace him, no fellow captains (or acting captains) to influence him and no friendly ports where he'd have no choice but to let them get out and stretch their legs. There was nothing but the tiny confines of the Roadrunner, along with whatever friendly races they happened to find on their way home. And Virgii was apparently now intent on alienating as many of the...er...aliens...as possible.

Mytim took a deep breath. This was undignified. She calmed her mind, imagining all her anger and frustration was leaving her in waves, flooding away, leaving her calm and collected once more.

She was so caught up in her own mental state that she didn't even notice a nearby blob shudder in surprise.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

garble-phloo nearly liquefied in shock as it felt a wave of emotional energy wash over it. It extended a sensory stalk and quickly began panning around the area. Nothing but ordinary, average-looking citizens and a pair of meat-bipeds. Surely neither of THEM were capable of harnessing the sort of energies it has sensed.

Ordinarily, garble-phloo wouldn't have paid the meat-bipeds a second thought. Unfortunately, its situation as less then ordinary. Two Enforcers were on its trail, and unless it could either find a way to ditch its highly illegal possession or to properly use it, it was going on a one-way trip to the desiccation chambers.

Chalking the odd occurrence up to chance, garble-phloo was about to resume its course when it felt another, stronger wave wash over it. Again it panned around, and again the only thing it saw out of the ordinary was the two bipeds. Only this time the one with fur was speaking angrily into a little pin on its front-side.

"Computer, I don't care if the priority message is coming from Fleet Admiral Ra'al, I'm not interested in having it patched through!" she snapped, clearly agitated.

"What is it?" the other one asked.

"Virgii is trying to force a priority comm-channel through the shuttle's-"

"Lieutenant Mytim, this is Captain Virgii," the little pin spoke, "Lieutenant, did you know one of our sensors is out of alignment? There isn't a trace of dilithium in this sector! You really should be more diligent in maintaining your equipement!"

garble-phloo oozed back, nearly liquefying again at the energy that crackled off the hairless biped.

"I'll keep that in mind, sir," she said coldly, her arms crossed, "We're setting course for the rendez-vouz point now,"

"See that you do," the voice said, "Virgii out."

"I'm going to kill him," the furred alien said simply, "I'm going to claw at him until he's gooey enough to pass for one of these things,"

"Now, now," the hairless one said, placing her fingertips gently on her companion, "don't be hasty. Endless torture also has its benefits,"

They resumed their walk towards the spaceport. Collecting itself, garble-phloo rushed to follow.

It couldn't use the energy crystal carefully hidden near a mitochondrial cluster, but maybe the meat-biped could.

Shurgroe and the two guards, Katren and Plisses, moved carefully down the corridors of Haven's Outer Rim.

"How long until that thing runs out of power?" Katren demanded.

"Well, I used one of those Old Matrian micro-fusion thingies that power your construction bots. So sometime between next month and two hundred years from now," Shurgroe gulped.

"And it didn't cross your little male mind that building something with weapons would be a bad idea!?"

"Y-you smashed my Death Star," Shurgroe replied, "I put too much work into that Atlantis model to see it crushed!"

"Hold," Plisses said, raising a hand. Suddenly, Shurgroe and Katren could here it too: the soft hum of antigrav units. They peered around the corner and into Silverbook Station. The Atlantis model was hovering near the open doors of the tram, almost as though consulting the route map displayed on the overhead display.

"On three," Phlisses said. She counted down with her fingers, then she and Katren jumped out, firing with their remaining phaser rifle. Shurgroe resumed tapping away at his remote, trying to at least get the shield to drop.

Instead, ignoring the incoming phaser beams, Atlantis surged straight at them, its drone launcher doors opening.

"Uh, RUN!" Shurgroe shouted just as another wave of yellow fireflies was unleashed. They darted back into the corridor, then ducked around the first corner. Behind them, Atlantis easily kept pace.

"Double back to the station!" Katren shouted, "Into the tram!"

Taking a pair of quick corners and running back into Silverbrook Station through the side entrance, they sprinted for the tram. The doors closed just in time, the yellow energy balls sparking against the window.

"Go, GO!" Katren shouted at Shurgroe, pushing him towards a chair with a small panel.

"What? ME?"

"Just DO it!"

Shrugroe tapped frantically, trying to set the tram on manual. With a jolt, it accelerated into the tunnel at full speed. In reverse.

They looked around. There was no sign of Atlantis.

"That was close," Katren said.

"Shurgroe to Ops," Shurgroe spoke, "Advise all personnel to avoid the vicinity of Silverbrook Station. And...uh...is anybody at the internal sensor panel?"

"Lt. Cmdr Shurgroe," the voice of Colonel Abela came back, "Glad to see you're back at work. Is there a problem?"

Shurgroe bit his lip. Both Katren and Phlisses were nodding 'YES' emphatically.

"No Colonel, n-n-nothing serious. Just a small equipment problem. We'll have it cleared up in a few moments."

"See that you do. Abela out,"

The Matrian guards were staring at him in disbelief.

"She likes it when people handle their own problems," he said in a small voice. He cleared his throat. "Besides, I know who to talk to."

"Better talk to them fast," Phlisses said, nodding at the window. Further down the tunnel, a small cluster of lights, tiny windows shining out of tiny buildings, was slowly gaining on the tram.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Dr. Annerson was contemplating one of the greatest mysteries in the universe. Which, in her world, meant she was staring at Josh Shurgroe's psychological profile and wondering just how the hell the messed up little bugger had made it through Starfleet Academy.

"Shurgroe to Annerson,"

"Hi Josh," Annerson said pleasantly, tapping her comm-badge, "I was just thinking of you. Any luck with the shipyard?"

"Um...well...the guards agreed to let me meet with Major Dekair," Shurgroe's voice sounded even more strained than usual.

"That's good news!" Annerson said warmly.

"Um. Yes."

Annerson sighed.

"What's the problem now, Josh?" she demanded.

"Um, well, I'm not sure how to say this..."

There was the sound of phaser fire over the line. Annerson reflexively looked out her window. Before she could roll her eyes at her own silly reaction (what were the odds Shurgroe would be visible from halfway up the Command Tower?) she saw a single tram speeding across the nearest bridge and into Downtown. Somebody in the tram appeared to be firing at something following them, but whatever it was was too small for Annerson to see. Something the size of...oh.

"Josh," she sighed, "We have one of those 'out of control robot/computer/AI' problems that Starfleet officers just seem to keep running into, don't we?"

"Uh, yes," now Shurgroe sounded embarrassed, "But don't worry, everything is under control...HOLD ON!"

Annerson watched as the tram suddenly reversed direction. The tiny dot that was the Atlantis model barely managed to dodge out of the way as the tram shot towards the Outer Rim at top speed.

"Oh, Josh," Annerson shook her head, "I'll go get Wyer and security. Try not to get killed, OK hon?"

"Um...um...OK?"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Mytim and Laarthi were almost at the spaceports when the sirens went off. All around them lights were flashing, sirens were blaring and gelatinous bodies were quivering with fear or excitement. Hell, for all they knew sirens and flashing lights signalled the beginning of a 24-hour orgy on this planet.

Inwardly cringing at the mental image, Mytim started pulling Laarthi towards the spaceport entrance, only to find with some surprise that Laarthi was already pulling her towards the entrance. After a brief tug-of war over who was the tower and who was being towed, they bolted.

"Attention all citizens," a voice droned, "A Code-23 recovery is underway. Please evacuate the area in an orderly fashion. Attention all citizens..."

"What does that mean?" Laarthi demanded, annoyed. Nobody answered.

"It means it's time for us to leave," Mytim said.

"I agree."

They'd just crossed the security checkpoint when there was a commotion behind them.

"NO!" the translated voice shrieked, "YOU WILL NOT TAKE ME! I AM AN AGENT OF THE BLEAKEST NIGHT! OUR POWER WILL BE UNBROKEN!"

"Ànother crazy cult member," a nearby blob shook its...well, the upper part of its blob-shaped body, "Next it'll be 'You cannot break the symbiosis, and energy crystal this and unlocking potential that. Bunch of raving lunatics!"

"THE SYMBIOSIS CANNOT BE BROKEN!" The same blob behind them shouted as it was targeted by security...blobs, "My energies will seek out the next potential! They will be gifted the power of the-"

The blobs ravings were cut off as dozens of energy bolts slammed into it, boiling its gel until the entire thing exploded in a massive SPLAT!

Both Mytim and Laarthi watched in horror as boiled alien gel flew towards them, promising to thoroughly ruin one of the few civilian outfits they'd brought on this hellish trip.

SPLAT!

"That's dis-GUSTING!" Laarthi snapped, starring in horror at her sodden fur, "I...ugh...UGH! To the ship! I need a shower, NOW!"

Mytim wasn't listening. She was staring straight ahead, right at the spot where the alien had died. A strange feeling was tingling across her skin, almost as though she was being surrounded by...by something. There was a brief surge of energy, like the ultimate caffeine high, then the sensation vanished.

"Mytim, COME ON!" Laarthi gave her a firm tug, "Before they decide they need to lock down the spaceport, or question everybody, or some other bureaucratic nonsense!"

"Right," Mytim shook her head. "Yes, yes of course."

But as she walked, working to maintain her collected exterior, the aliens last words rang in her head: 'The next potential...'

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"So, let me get this straight," Colonel Abela crossed her arms, "Somebody built a computer-controlled gadget that's running around terrorizing people, and now we have to figure out how to stop it?"

"Yup," Captain Simplot replied, "It's fairly simple, actually."

"And this sort of thing happens ALL THE TIME?"

"Check some starship logs sometime," Lieutenant Stoneryder commented. He was wandering around the command deck, looking down at the display screens on the second level and through the lower windows into the city, "Nice place you have up here, by the way,"

"If you'd been doing your JOB, this wouldn't be your first visit here since you arrived!" Abela shouted.

"What I can't figure out is why Josh didn't tell us?" Simplot wondered, "I mean, why Annerson, of all people?"

"He did call me," Abela said, "I can't imagine why he didn't just tell me then?"

"Oh, no idea, Miss Bitch-a-Lot," Stoneryder muttered.

"What was that?" Abela snapped.

"Nothing," Stoneryder said innocently. He flexed one arm over his head, finger pointing, "is the beach...THAT way?"

"What?" Abela glared, "Why don't you get a security team and some weapons and go HELP Mr. Shurgroe and my guards before they're HORRIBLY KILLED!"

Stoneryder dropped his arm, looking angrily at his bicep.

"Guess I have to hit the gym more for that trick to work," he muttered.

"GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!"

"I'm going! I'm going!"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Josh, this is Liz," Shurgroe's comm-badge beeped, "Reinforcements are on the way. Well, I mean, Stoneryder is on the way. But if he handles his phaser rifle as well as he handled his gun in 'Vixens Vs. Warriors: Unleashed' then you should be OK!"

"I knew I'd seen that Starfleeter from somewhere!" Katren said brightly.

"Ewww," Shurgroe groaned.

They were still flying down the tunnel, on their second full circuit of the Outer Rim. Phlisses had forced one of the doors partway open while they'd been out in the open city and had been taking pot-shots at the pursuing model, but once they'd hit the tunnels again she'd been forced to choose between closing the door and losing an arm. Luckily, Atlantis' tiny drone weapons couldn't penetrate the transparent aluminum of the tram's windows.

"He'll have a hard time catching us," Shurgroe said, looking worriedly out at the tiny city as it paced them, "We'll have to stop at some point,"

There was a glow from Atlantis' weapon's hatches, then a swarm of tiny drones flew down, right at the vulnerable antigravity tracks.

"Uh-oh," Shurgroe forced out, just before the tram slammed into the tunnel floor, the screech of metal on metal almost deafening. He was thrown against both Matrians, the three of them slamming into the crash balloons that suddenly deployed. Finally, the battered tram slid to a stop.

"Emergency. Emergency," a smooth female voice chanted in Matrian, "Transit accident detected. Rerouting tram traffic to Levels 4 and 34. Please remain where you are; a rescue party has been dispatched."

"Hey, they finally got Madam working!" Phlisses said cheerfully.

"Inverse hippopotamus detected in the vicinity of the North Beach. Initiating lake drainage sequence. Lake drainage aborted by user,"

"Stupid piece of-" Wyer's voice was briefly heard over the comm. The voice of the city's computer warbled out, like a slowly slowing record.

"Or not," Shurgroe gulped.

"We should run," Katren said, forcing open one door and pointing to where Atlantis was preparing to unleash another attack.

"Uh-oh,"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Uh-oh," Laarthi said, "We've got a tail,"

"Well yes, of course you do, most cats-"

"I mean somebody's following us!"

"Oh. Of course,"

"We're still an hour away from the rendezvous point," Laarthi cursed, "And I can't get any more speed out of these engines. I guess we'll just have to meet the blasted bureaucrats and get this paperwork hell over with!"

"NO!" Mytim said sharply. She didn't know why, but something was telling her that she couldn't let the alien blobs anywhere near her. Especially the ones in charge. Something...something...something was different.

If only she could just make them go away!

Something stirred. Shaking her head, Mytim returned her attention to her console, trying to figure out how to coax more power of the shuttle's engines.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"What is this place?" Shurgroe asked. He and the two Matrians had run through several double-width corridors and into some sort of facility. He wasn't sure what it was, but from what he could see it looked like it was meant to handle a lot of pedestrian traffic.

"Uh, do you see any signs?"

"There's one." Shurgroe pointed.

"We're in the Sportsplex," Katren replied after a quick glance.

They rushed around the corner, then found themselves at the edge of a broad arena. It almost could have been medium sized hockey arena, except for the fact that the play area was rectangular. Half a dozen rising terraces rose up on all sides, giving way to vertical balconies, although the seating was incomplete.

"Wow, I didn't know we had one of these!" Shurgroe said.

"This is too open, we're sitting ducks!"

"DUCK!" somebody shouted.

"Huh?"

Phlisses pulled Shurgroe to the ground as a dozen phaser rifles opened up, the beams passing over their heads and towards the model city. Three or four hit, causing the city's shield to spark briefly before it unleashed its counter attack.

"Security is here!" Phlisses explained, somewhat belatedly.

"HOLY CRAP!" Stoneryder cried, ducking as a retalitory yellow swarm of drones flew over his head. Around him Lieutenant Franches and the Civil Protection Team (or Jungle Squad, as Simplot like to call them) ducked and covered. They were only one balcony above Shurgroe and the guards.

They fired again, more shots hitting home. But the shield held, and the tiny city unleashed another attack.

"YOU! Engineer!" Stoneryder shouted, "You BUILT that thing? WTF, man?"

"Shut up you...you...dirty person!" Shurgroe yelled back.

One of the Jungle Squad men threw a primitive bola at the model city, cursing as it bounced off the shield.

"I'll show you how this is done!" Stoneryder said. He leapt over the railing, directly at the city. He landed square on the dome-shaped shield, driving the city down to the deck. There was a brief shower of sparks as flesh met force-field, then Atlantis popped back up in the air and soared straight up towards the arena ceiling, veering off to the right seconds before hitting the ceiling. Stoneryder was tossed to the floor, quivering as a few last jolts of energy ran through his body.

"It's heading towards the pool area!" one of the Jungle Squad members shouted. Lieutenant Franches, ignoring the still-shaking Stoneryder on the deck below, took off towards the stairs, his team in close persuit.

"Owie," Stoneryder gulped, his hair standing straight up and his uniform scorched.

"Call me sometime," Phlisses said, popping a small card with her comm-code into the waistband of his pants before running after the security team.

"Oh come on, Phlisses," Katren said, "A porn star? REALLY? How low!"

"Hey, I don't wanna date him, I just want a private performance!"

Shurgroe looked down at Stoneryder.

"Ewww," he said again, then raced after the Matrians

Shurgroe had just managed to haul himself up five or six flights of stairs and was looking for a sign that might, hopefully, have a symbol of something resembling a pool on it when the Jungle Squad came charging back. Their bare arms and chests were covered with red spots, almost as thought they'd each been subjected to the smouldering butts of a dozen careless smokers.

"Retreat!" one of them cried, running past Shurgroe.

"Strategic advance to the rear!" Franches corrected as he passed by.

Right on the heels of the Jungle squad came Phlisses and Katren, the latter grabbing Shurgroe by the arm and hauling him along.

"I think we've made it angry!" she said, panting, "We've got to get to a tram!"

"And you've got to think up a way out of this mess!" Phlisses added, "Something better than getting the doctor to send an army of nitwits!"

"You built the thing! You should know how to take it out!" Katren snapped.

Shurgroe nearly stopped in his tracks.

"I have to get to my lab!" he said, "You have to keep it busy until I get back!"

"Oh sure, just keep a homicidal model city 'busy'!"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"They're going to be in weapons range in five minutes," Laarthi said, sounding worried, "I wonder what they're all dogged up about?"

"I am certain I do not know," Mytim said crisply. Inwardly, she was feeling very, very strange. It was almost as though she could feel the pursuing ship. The cold texture of the metal hull under her hands. She could feel goosebumps on her arms as the ships navigational deflectors tickled at that sensitive spot on the inside of her elbow. She could smell the faint whiff of plasma exhaust spewing from the other ships nacelles.

"Hey, wake up! Laarthi said, snapping her fingers. (Or trying to...it doesn't work very well with furred species.)

"Hmm?"

"Interception in two minutes! I'm cutting the engines! Send Virgii a message telling him to meet us here!"

"Yes, yes of course," Mytim said. She did not, however, move her hands towards her console. If only they had a cloaking device! Or some other way to hide!

"What are you DOING?" Laarthi demanded.

"Be quiet," Mytim said, softly but firmly. There was a small twitch that felt like it came from deep inside her head, almost like the flexing of a very unused muscle, then Laarthi abruptly turned back to her console and stopped speaking.

Barely aware of what she was doing, Mytim pictured the shuttle, trying to see it the same way she'd seen the pursuing ship. The feel of the hull, the sound of the engines, the scent of the exhaust.

Then she placed herself between the two ships and...pushed.

"Change course to 010 mark 0," she said to Laarthi.

"Hmm?" Laarthi shook her head. "Why?"

"Just do it, please,"

The shuttle turned slightly. The pursuing ship however, continued on its original course. After a moment, it slowed to a stop.

"They're running sensor sweeps," Laarthi said, frowing. A moment later, the ship turned, then shot back into warp.

"Weird," Laarthi said, "Must have been some sort of sensor malfunction,"

"Yes," Mytim swallowed, "Must have been,"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Simplot to Shurgroe,"

Shurgroe dropped the hydrospanner he was using, muttering a minor oath to Hades as he fumbled to pick it up.

"Uh...Shurgroe here,"

"Not to question your technique, Josh," Simplot said, "But an update now and then would be nice. Y'know, something other than Dr. Annerson screaming that she can't figure out how to steer the hover-ambulance...then me asking her WHY she's trying to steer a hover-ambulance, and when did we get a hover-ambulance anyway...and her saying that Stoneryder had been zapped into oblivion by your...your...flying science fiction space city?!" By the end of the rant, Simplot's voice was picking up just a hint of panic.

"I do have a plan, ma'am," Shurgroe said, "Honest! I'm just a bit...busy!"

"Well hurry it up!"

The channel clicked dead.

Shurgroe looked at his workbench and swallowed. This was either the answer to his problems, or another disaster just waiting to happen.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Dr. Annerson wasn't exactly enjoying her spectacular view of the city.

When she'd received word that one of the security team had been injured all the way out in the Outer Rim, she'd called for a site-to-site transport, only be informed that the Matrian transporters weren't capable of site-to-site beaming. Colonel Abela had instead informed her that there was an emergency hover-ambulance just down the hall from her clinic. It had been easy to find, basically a rounded rectangle embedded behind a launch hatch in the side of the tower. Piloting it, however, had been a new adventure. She'd barely managed to fly out to the Outer Rim and haul Stoneryder back on a stretcher...now she found herself circling around Downtown with no idea how to dock the damned thing at the clinic!

Down below, she could see several members of the Jungle Squad squaring off against Atlantis. The security team had been hastily equipped with duranium shields they could use to protect their bare skin against the drone attacks, mostly by swatting them away, but Atlantis had them backed up against the lakeshore, and was still pressing the attack.

Annerson knew that building models was just a hobby of Shurgroe's, but she couldn't help but think that Starfleet R&D would be interested in taking a close look at that gizmo.

"Shurgroe to Annerson,"

"Bit busy, Josh," Annerson said, releasing her death-grip on the control sticks just long enough to slap her comm-badge.

"Can you give me a lift to the fight?" Shurgroe asked.

Annerson was so dumbstruck she almost flew into a building.

"Are you NUTS?" she snapped, "I'm barely keeping this thing from crashing and killing me AND my patient! And you want a RIDE?"

"Well, you landed it once, right? I'm here near the Downtown shore. Can you see me waving?"

"I'm going to FLATTEN you!" Annerson seethed. With no small amount of difficulty she managed to manoeuvre the hover-ambulance around to Shurgroe's general location and began to descend.

"What's going on?" Stoneryder slurred from the back.

"Shut up!" Annerson growled. With a jolt, the hover-ambulance set down on a snow-covered section of sandy beach.

"Janet!" Shurgroe said, tapping on the hatch to the pilot compartment, "Slide over, I need in!"

"Are you crazy?" Annerson said, "There isn't room up here for both of us!"

"But there isn't room in the back for me...unless I climb on top of this guy, and I don't want to do that!"

"The more the merrier!" Stoneryder groaned deliriously.

"Just leave him on the beach; he'll be fine until somebody comes to get him!" Annerson snapped.

"That's not very Hippat...hippopot...doctorly of you,"

"I'm in a very BAD MOOD!" Annerson snapped as Shurgroe opened the rear hatch and slid Stoneryder's stretcher onto the beach.

"Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus, right down Santa Claus lane!" Stoneryder giggled as his stretcher crunched onto the snowy ground.

Shurgroe climbed into the back, tossing a couple of emergency blankets in Stoneryder's general direction before pulling the door shut.

"Now hurry, I have a plan...I just don't want to be standing out there if it doesn't work!"

Annerson noticed Shurgroe was now clutching two remote controls in his hands.

"Ohhhh no, Josh," she signed, "You are the ONLY engineer I know that would solve an insane robot problem by involving ANOTHER insane robot!"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Down on the ground Lt. Franches was alternating between wishing he was someplace warm and wishing he was hiding in a duranium box. Someplace warm because he and his team weren't wearing their long underwear for outdoor operations, and a duranium box because that was the only thing he could think of that would offer 100% protection from those blasted stinging yellow lights!

"Onto the lake!" he called to his team, taking a careful step onto the ice.

"It's too thin!" one of his men cried, "We'll fall through!"

"You'd rather get zapped again?" Franches demanded, batting away several micro-drones with his shield. Atlantis was slowly spinning on its axis and it edged closer to them, its shield still repelling the phaser hits.

"Franches to Haven Command Center!" Franches slapped his comm-badge again, "Tell that engineer that whatever he has planned, it better happen soon!"

"He says 'duck'," Simplot's voice came back after a moment.

"Huh?"

Before Franches could say another word, a medicine-ball sized globe flew out from behind a nearby building, on a direct course towards Atlantis. Several green energy beams fired out from a dish-shaped indentation in the upper surface of the globe, converging into a single, thick beam that speared out, striking Atlantis dead center. The glittering model city jolted back, its dome-shaped shield flickering.

"Death Star 1, Atlantis 0!" Shurgroe yelled triumphantly over the comm. Franches looked up to see a blocky hovercraft with the words 'Ambulance' written across the side in Matrian flying unsteadily through the air above them.

"Get out of my way, Josh!" a female voice came over the comm, "I can't pilot this thing with your head up here!"

"Well I can't control the Death Star if I can't see what's happening! Unless you want me to put it on auto-pilot, like Atlantis?"

Franches watched as another series of beams surged out, converged, missed Atlantis and blew a very large hole in the side of a nearby building.

"NO!" he shouted, "No more crazy robots!"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Up in the command center, Colonel Abela and Captain Simplot were watching the fight through one of the enhanced windows. Simplot winced as the Death Star blew another gaping hole in the side of another building.

Abela looked at her coldly.

"Happens all the time, hmm?" she asked tightly.

"Well...it's not...uncommon," Simplot replied, "besides, I'm sure we can fix up that wall. It's just stone, right?"

"You can tell when stone's been patched or replaced," Abela said, watching as the Jungle Squad scrambled to get away from the warring models, "It's never the same."

"Well, you get to supervise Wyer and a construction team while they try, right?"

"I suppose there is a, how you say, silver lining to the cloud," Abela replied, shooting a look of death in Wyer's general direction.

Wyer just sighed.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Uh-oh," Shurgroe muttered.

"What 'uh-oh'?" Annerson demanded.

"I think I pissed it off,"

Outside, streams of tiny yellow lights were flooding from all three of Atlantis' weapons ports, swarming into intricate patterns before slamming into the Death Star. The Death Star fired back with its main weapon. Atlantis' shield held, but the drones in the air vanished as power was rerouted from the holographic projector to the shield.

"I think you're weakening it!" Franches called over the comm.

"Yeah, but those holo-thingies are screwing up the circuitry!" Shurgroe called back, "I don't know how many more hits the shell I built can take!"

The Death Star faltered as another drone cloud hit it, then recovered enough to hit Atlantis with another shot. The attacking drones again vanished, giving the Death Star a couple of second to press its attack before Atlantis resumed firing.

"It's weakening!" Franches called to his troops, lifting his weapon and adding his fire to the Death Star's attack. Within seconds, his troops followed suit.

Atlantis soared back over the lake, unable to fire, all of its power being diverted to the shield.

"All that work, down the drain," Shurgroe sighed, tapping at the Death Star controls to send it in for the kill.

"You can always build another one," Annerson offered.

"NO HE CAN'T!" Simplot and Franches' voices both came over the comm.

"I might not have to," Shurgroe said, his voice oddly calm.

"Huh?"

From the lakeshore, the hover-ambulance and the command tower, everybody turned their attention back to Atlantis. The model was hovering over the open water halfway between the outer shore and the Downtown island. It had stopped rotating, and was now edging closer and closer to the water. The Death Star fired again, narrowing missing the model city as it descended. It gently touched down on the surface of the water...then kept going.

"I knew I shouldn't have uploaded Science Fiction Wiki into the AI," Shurgroe muttered.

"What's it doing, Josh?" Simplot demanded as the city model disappeared into the icy water.

"It's fulfilling the Atlantis myth," Shurgroe sighed, "It's submerging itself so that the water dissipates energy weapons."

Sure enough, the next shot from the Death Star sizzled against the water, but didn't penetrate very deep.

"Oh great. So now what? Are you going to build a model submarine to torpedo the heck out of it?"

"Actually," Shurgroe gulped, "If we leave it alone and let it follow the rest of the, er, mythology of the series I based the model on, it'll just sit there until its power cell runs out, then float back up, harmless. Um, granted, it hasn't followed it all that well so far. But I can patrol the lake with the Death Star for a week or two...just in case."

"Try two or three," Abela snapped.

"And you might want to go pick up Stoneryder," Simplot came back on the comm, "He's starting to turn blue. Wow, I can't wait until people move into the buildings and we can really try out these fancy zoom windows!"

"This is a COMMAND CENTER, not a VOYEUR LOUNGE!" Abela snapped, just as the channel went dead.

"Well," Shurgroe fell back into the back of the ambulance with relief, "That settles that."

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Thousands of light years away, Mytim and Laarthi watched through the cockpit window as the Roadrunner dropped out of warp less than a kilometre from the shuttle.

"Let's go ladies, pip-pip!" Virgii's voice came over the comm, causing both women to cringe, "We've wasted quite enough time on this little enterprise, it's time we were on our way!"

"Commencing docking procedure," Laarthi snapped, bringing the shuttle around and easing into the docking receptacle. There was a slight jolt, then a series of metallic snicks as various connectors and the main airlock hooked in. The hatch in the floor behind them opened, and Laarthi moved to exit the shuttle.

"Don't forget your stuff," Laarthi reminded her as she climbed down the short ladder into the Roadrunner.

"My..." Mytim was confused. She hadn't bought anything...nothing had caught her eye. Yet there was a large package with her name on it sitting in the tiny cargo area. Frowning, she picked it up. The wrapper tore away, revealing a heavy, leather-bound book.

Spells for Beginners.

Mytim opened the book and found a small inscription inside the cover:

'This one's a freebie, my dear,' it read, 'The rest will be harder to find.'

"Mytim?" Laarthi called "Are you OK up there?"

Mytim thought back to the alien shuttle, the surge of energy she'd felt when the alien died, and the book that had now mysteriously appeared in front of her.

"Oh, I think I'm going to be just fine," she said, permitting herself a small, private grin.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Deep under the water, anchored to the lakebed, the Atlantis model settled in among the silt, diverting the power from its antigravity engines into the processor core and holographic generator. A small construct appeared next to the city, a tiny cable connecting it to the city base. A small jolt of power extracted a minute quanity of hydrogen from the water, hydrogen that was immediately combined with other molecules into a fuel source compatible with the Matrian power cell. Another small refinery appeared.

Then another.

Then another.

One day, Atlantis would rise again...


	6. 6 - Off The Leash

Star Traks: Halfway to Haven 1.6 – "Off the Leash"

* * *

Acting Captain Taylor Virgii took in a deep breath of fresh air as he stood at the peak of a small hill. Further down, Dr. Strobnick and Lt. Mytim were walking around taking careful readings with their tricorders. Several other minor, lesser crewmembers (or minions, as part of Virgii's mind was beginning to think of them) were assisting.

"Ship is secure!" Lt. Boxer said happily, tongue lolling out of his mouth as he jogged up to Virgii's side, "Nobody's going to get on board without me knowing about!"

"Probably because there is nobody here, Lieutenant," Virgii said crisply. Boxer's ears drooped slightly.

"Yeah, but if they were here, they wouldn't!" Boxer replied. His left foot was starting to jump.

"Oh, go on already," Virgii grimaced, gesturing to the virgin meadow to the west of their landing zone. With a happy bark, Boxer dropped to all fours and starting running at full speed towards the meadow, then stopped dead center, looking around and sniffing.

"What about you, Lieutenant," Virgii said, turning to Lieutenant Laarthi, "Would you care to frolic as well?"

"I'm really not the frolicking type, thank you very much," Laarthi replied. She was walking carefully around the Roadrunner's port landing leg and staring up at the extension mechanism. She'd been studying the specs on the ship, now that she'd been forced into the position of Chief Engineer. But she still didn't understand how half of the systems on the damned ship worked. "That being said, I'd love the chance to get away from this mechanical monstrosity for a few days and just...enjoy the beauty of nature."

"That sounds a lot like frolicking," Virgii replied.

Laarthi looked in Boxer's direction, where the canine officer had unzipped his fly in order to urinate on an interesting looking tree.

"There are differences," she said curtly.

"As long as you don't chain yourself to any of the local foliage," Virgii commented, referring to the incident when he and Laarthi first met.

"I'll try to restrain myself," Laarthi spat back, her words nearly a hiss.

There was silence for a few moments.

"They're too thin," Virgii said suddenly.

"Beg your pardon?"

"The landing legs," he gestured, "The ones supporting the main hull. They're too thin. They make the ship look...undignified. And Virgii's Law...uh," he pulled a padd off his belt, "Virgii's Law #221 clearly states that all Federation kit must present itself in a professional manner,"

"So you want me to do what, exactly?"

"I don't know, you're the engineer. Just fix it!"

Confident that his leadership and direction would set Laarthi on the right path (and not noticing the look of death she shot in his direction), Virgii moved down the hill to further motivate his people.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Fairly ordinary planet," Mytim reported, the look she directed in Virgii's direction a calculated mix of boredom and confidence, meant to imply that the current work was somewhat beneath her, "Flora only, no fauna to speak of. No pollinating insects, which is a bit strange. Stranger still, I can find absolutely no signs of any form of bacteria or micro-organism whatsoever,"

"And yet the soil is fertile?"

Mytim allowed her eyelids to lower slightly is contempt.

"I don't have to explain it, I simply report it," she said crisply.

"Wrong," Virgii answered, "You're the science officer! Do it...with science!"

Taking a very careful, very deep breath, Mytim willed her body to relax, before she did something unfortunate, like cause Virgii's head to explode.

Nobody else aboard the Roadrunner knew it yet, but on her last planetary visit, Mytim had been present at the death of a somewhat unusual alien. What was even more unusual was that as it died, the alien had transferred some kind of power to her. She couldn't explain exactly what it was, even after she spent two days in the science lab with every conceivable sensor pointed at her body. But it seemed like...magic.

But she was still learning to control it.

Even as she struggled to reign in her anger at Virgii, she caught the smell of smoke. Looking down, she saw a perfect circle of singed ground spreading from her feet.

"Do you smell that?" Virgii wondered, looking around.

Mytim concentrated hard, pushing her energy, whatever it was, into the burnt ground around her feet. Within seconds, and just before Virgii looked down, fresh, green grass had replaced the singed blades.

"Nope," Mytim said calmly, "I don't smell a thing,"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

With the planet declared safe, the twenty-some crew of the Roadrunner fanned out from the ship, searching for edible plants, fresh water, interesting mineral deposits or anything else that might help them on their trip. Laarthi and Mytim had been more than a little surprised when Virgii had ordered the ship into a landing approach to the planet, seeing as how his insufferable laws seemed to prevent them from doing anything but flying towards Federation space in a straight, boring line.

"We'll be passing within a light-year of star system E332-665-B34," Dr. Strobnick reported from the navigational panel, "Sensors?"

Silence.

"Lt. Mytim, sensors?" Virgii prompted from the center chair.

"Sensors are operating within normal parameters," Mytim replied, not turning from her panel, "And are fully available from the navigation console,"

"Yes, but it's your job to fill us in," Virgii said.

"It's not his job to order me around," Mytim replied calmly.

"No, but it's mine," Virgii reminded her, "Sensors?"

Glaring at his reflection in the panel, Mytim closed the demonology file she'd been reading (something from the fiction database...at least she was fairly sure it was fiction) and brought up the sensor scans of the system.

"Six planets, one M-Class, no signs of civilization or intelligent life," she said.

Virgii pulled out a padd.

"No warning beacon?" he asked.

"No," Mytim replied.

"No subspace ripples?"

"No,"

"Interspace fluctuations?"

"No,"

"Um...warp trails? Plasma exhaust residue?"

"No, and no,"

"Tetryon particle residue?"

"NO!" Mytim snapped, "What are you DOING?"

"Checking off Virgii's Law's," he said, showing her the padd. On it was a seemingly endless list of laws, each with a little checkbox next to it, "Now, if you want to be finished before we pass by the system, we need to get cracking!"

"The system is still several hours away," Lt. Laarthi pointed out from the helm, taking her turn piloting the ship.

"Exactly," Virgii said, "We'll be hard pressed to get through the whole list! Why, we haven't even started with the active scan question yet!"

Laarthi and Mytim exchanged a look.

"There is no way he's going to let us stop," Mytim thought to herself.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Which somewhat explained why the girls were surprised to find themselves walking around on the planets' surface. The Roadrunner still had adequate fuel and replicator mass stores to last them for some time, but fresh fruits and vegetables, nuts, berries and water could all be stored for a fraction of what it cost to replicate them. That, and in a rare moment of common sense, Virgii seemed to realize that after weeks spent on ship, his people really needed to get out for a spell.

Or maybe, just maybe, the mind-control spell Mytim had started chanting after the first hour of checking the planet against Virgii's Laws had some effect. OK, she didn't have the ingredients the strange spellbook she'd found had called for, and she hadn't used a sacred circle as a casting tool, but she sure as hell had been focusing her mind on bending Virgii's will. So maybe instead of getting control over his brain, she just managed to...push it...a little?

She shook her head. No, if she'd believed for a minute that she could control his mind she never would have tried it. That was an ethical puzzle she just wasn't willing to deal with. Still, muttering the nonsense words over and over again while picturing Virgii as her willing slave had helped get her through the rest of her shift.

What she really needed instead of attempts at mind-control was a calming potion. Another handy little recipe she'd found in that book. She didn't pretend to understand how the book was in Standard English, considering she'd found it thousands of light-years from Earth, nor did she know how exactly the blob aliens would have any idea what motherwart or mandrake was. She just sort of assumed the book was responding to her. Of more pressing concern was the fact that she barely had enough replicator rations to eat comfortably, never mind replicating a veritable spice rack of herbs, roots, animal body parts and assorted spell ingredients.

Hmmm. But there was a funny-looking plant over there that smelled a lot like Rosemary. Grabbing a sample baggy, Mytim decided that this empty little planet was the perfect place for a little experimentation.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Boxer? BOXER? Here boy!" Laarthi called, wandering along the tree line next to Boxer's little meadow, "Where is that stupid dog?" she grumbled.

After about an hour or so of wandering alone though a forested area less than a kilometre away from the ship, Laarthi had felt calmer and more relaxed than she'd felt in weeks. Her mind, so occupied with technical manuals and ship maintenance and assorted other crap that she'd been trying to dig through as Chief Engineer, was releasing its tension and finally emptying enough that she could think clearly about something other than dilithium crystal recrystalization techniques. Granted, she really didn't want to think about the fact that they were years from Federation space or that their small, fragile ship might be blown to pieces before they could even begin to cross that distance.

Laarthi had stopped under a massive, arching alien tree with purplish branches and bluish leaves, stretched out in the shade and just her entire mind go blank. That lasted for about fifteen minutes before she started wondering what Starfleet could be doing to bring them back, if only they knew. After all, following the whole Voyager and Aerostar fiascos there'd been a new interest in researching ways for a ship to cross a great distance, even research into old technologies that had been previously deemed 'unsafe'. If only they could talk to Starfleet!

Which led to the somewhat strange realization that the Roadrunner HAD tried to contact Starfleet. And that she and Boxer had sabotaged the attempt, fearing that whoever had sabotaged the ship and sent them into this part of space to begin with was still on board. Which was smart, since it turned out that they had been. But she'd since seen the saboteur blasted out Boxer's window.

So why hadn't they tried contacting Starfleet again?

Which led to Laarthi now searching for her flea-bitten partner.

She stopped sniffing the air. What was that? It smelled almost like...almost like..."

"Do NOT go in there," Boxer said cheerfully as he stepped out of the bushes, doing up his belt and tucking a magazine padd into a pocket.

"There are TOILETS on the ship for a REASON!" Laarthi hissed.

"What, I thought you of all people would enjoy the chance to get back to nature," Boxer replied, "Living off the land, sleeping outside, wiping your backside with leaves,"

"I'm surprised you didn't use your TONGUE!"

With a growl and a bark, Boxer lunged at Laarthi, who darted away deftly and started sprinting across the meadow. Boxer quickly pursued her, barking loudly. They scrambled across the meadow and into a group of trees. Laarthi dodged around them with lightning speed, Boxer barely keeping up.

"Should we stop them?" Crewman Bilings asked, looking concerned as Laarthi emerged from a group of bushes and darted left. Boxer plowed right through, sending leaves and branches flying. He stood there for a moment, panting and sniffing as he looked around. In seconds, he'd locked onto Laarthi's scent and bolted after her.

"My no, they're having a grand time," Virgii waved his hand, "Just don't expect me to get the cat out of the tree,"

"They're smarter than that," Billings laughed. He stopped, then swallowed, 'Um, aren't they? Sir?"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Ten minutes later, Virgii, Billings and Mytim were gathered under a large oak-like tree.

"I'm serious, this isn't funny!" Laarthi snapped, clinging desperately to a thick branch nearly twenty feet off the ground, "I'm...I'm not so good with heights!"

"Then maybe you shouldn't have climbed up there, Lieutenant," Virgii said calmly.

"One does not apply logic when one is being chased by a growling, drooling BEAST!"

"I was just playing," Boxer said sheepishly, his eyes down and his tail between his legs, "I didn't mean anything by it. Honest! "

Laarthi hissed, her teeth bared and her ears flicked back.

"You don't have to be a poor sport about it," Boxer mumbled.

"I think we have a pair of anti-grav boots back at the ship," Billings said, scratching his head.

"No need," Virgii said confidently, "Virgii's Law 102: Crewmenbers will better themselves by facing their darkest fears."

Laarthi informed him which of her dark places he could face.

"I'm going to let that go on account of your...situation," Virgii said, "Now then, I have work to do. I'm quite confident that you'll climb down on your own when you're ready to do so. Mr. Billings, Mr. Boxer, we have supplies to collect."

"I, uh, gotta talk to Laarthi about the ventral phaser arrays," Boxer said quickly, "I think one of them looks a little corroded,"

"Oh very well," Virgii rolled his eyes, "But be quick about it!"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Night was beginning to fall on the planet as the last group of crewmembers hauled their finds up the gangway and into the Roadrunner's cargo hold. Several varieties of edible plants had been found and were being packed into stasis bins, the freshwater tanks were being topped up and one group had even found a small patch of ore that could be re-processed into duranium. All in all, it was a pretty successful stop. With a couple of minor exceptions.

"And where do you think you're going, Lieutenant?" Virgii demanded, stopping Mytim as she walked down the gangway, a compact standard-issue rucksack on her back.

"I, uh, thought I'd do a little astronomy while I had the chance," she said, "After all, how often do I have the chance to work from a fairly stationary object?" That was a flat out lie, she really wanted a bit of privacy and a bit of space. But somehow she doubted Virgii would like that answer. Virgii didn't look like he was buying it.

"Humorous," Mytim muttered, discreetly snapping open a packet of ground-up plant parts and letting their scent fill the air.

Virgii blinked as a sense of pleasure surged through him.

"I like that idea," he said, smiling, "Just make sure you don't wander too far,"

"Whatever you like, sir," Mytim smiled, then rushed off into the darkness.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"You don't have to sit here," Laarthi said, "I'm perfectly fine on my own. This branch is actually very comfortable,"

"It's my fault," Boxer replied, curled up as he was against the trunk of the tree, "Do you want to try moving again? You're already a meter closer to the ground than you were before, and it's pretty dark out now,"

"There's nothing out here that's going to get us," Laarthi said, "Not even bugs. Which, you know, is still really strange."

"Why were you looking for me before, anyway?" Boxer asked suddenly.

Oh. Right. There had been a reason behind her seeking out that mutt.

"Why didn't we try to contact Starfleet after we blew the saboteur out your window?"

"Oh! Because the nano-techy fabrication thing is still working on replacement crystals. They don't just grow overnight," Boxer replied.

"But if we could find some naturally-occurring resonance crystals, we could get the nav-deflector reconfigured to send a message, right?"

"That's a lot harder than it sounds," Boxer said, "I mean, I can't just sniff them out, you know." He started sniffing. "Hey, do you smell that? I think it's mushrooms!"

"Who cares!"

"I like mushrooms!" Boxer said happily, sniffing around the base of the tree, "I swear, there weren't any here before!" He quickly identified the source of the scent, a small patch of greyish-green nodules growing out of the ground.

"They smell great!" he said.

"I don't think you should...you did," Laarthi rolled her eyes as Boxer quickly wolfed down his find, "If you start hallucinating, don't expect me to do anything about it!"

"I don't. You're stuck in a tree," Boxer said, perfectly serious.

"Dogs," Laarthi rolled her eyes.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Less than a kilometre away, Mytim had found a small clearing in the woods, a path of starry sky directly above and a flat patch of grassy ground below. She setup a small light, then laid out her spellbook and the selection of ingredients she'd managed to collect on the planet. She'd changed out of her uniform and now wore a simple, black dress. She pulled her hair out of its Starfleet bun and let it fall to her shoulders. OK. First things first. She selected a flowing, rose-like plant that she'd found and set it on the ground, then proceeded to draw a circle around herself. That was one thing the book was very clear on; circles were important for focusing your power.

"Practice technique #4," she read from the book, "Levitate the rose, then carefully pluck each petal. This will help you develop your concentration and control." She frowned. "I could swear I saw this in an old television show once,"

She focused on the plant, which really didn't look like a rose after all now that she thought about it, but that wasn't particularly relevant, and concentrated. After a moment, it slowly hovered into the air.

Mytim gulped, the surprise of it all almost breaking her focus. Yes, she'd seen and read about a lot of very strange abilities over her career, but this was really taking the cake. At least she didn't have the weird, silver-eyes thing going on like those poor, crazy people that came back from the galactic barrier.

Now, to carefully, carefully, pluck each petal from the-

POOF!

There was a brief flash of light as the flower burst into flames, then disintegrated.

Mytim sighed.

"Not exactly a good sign," she said.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"No, I still don't want to climb down!" Laarthi snapped, her arms still wrapped around the branch, "I'm perfectly comfortable right here! Stop badgering me!"

"Badger? Where?" Boxer started looking around. "Are you teasing me again?"

Laarthi glared at him.

"I have an idea," he said, "It worked for one of my classmates at the Academy when we were using the climbing wall,"

"Oh really. Was he a squirrel?"

"Don't be silly, then I would have ate him. Why?"

"Because the only animals meant to climb trees are squirrels!" Now Laarthi was getting a bit agitated.

"Just trust me on this," Boxer said, climbing up the tree. He quickly reached Laarthi's level, then tied a strip of fabric over her eyes.

"Brilliant move, now I can't see!" she snarled as Boxer climbed back down to the ground.

"Exactly. Now, reach out to the left with your left hand. There's a branch there."

"I...what?"

"My climbing partner hated heights," Boxer said, "But when we practiced climbing blindfolded, he did great!"

Laarthi hesitated. After a moment, she worked her left hand free of the branch and flailed out, grasping the next one over in a death grip.

"Now reach down and to the right with your right foot.

Again, Laarthi struggled to work up the nerve to free her right leg, then flailed for the foothold.

"Good, now stand on that branch and get yourself turned around."

This time, the delay was shorter, her movements a little less panicked.

Step by step, Boxer walked her though the climb down, until Laarthi's left foot finally touched solid ground. She dropped, then tore the blindfold off.

"Remind me never to do that again!" she said.

"Never do that again," Boxer replied, deadpan.

"I...nevermind!"

"Wanna go looking for crystals?" Boxer asked, the incident apparently already dismissed, "There's a cave not far from here!"

"It's dark out. Shouldn't we go back to the ship?"

"We will. Eventually. But let's go check it out!"

"Um...okay,"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Well, apparently I have an affinity for the fire-spirits," Mytim sighed, staring at the slowly rotating ball of flames she conjured into existence. Granted, the fact that she'd created a flaming, sparking orb nearly a meter in diameter was impressive, and she was more than a bit disturbed by the amount of effort it was taking to keep the thing going.

But the damned thing was supposed to be a ball of ice.

This was her fourth spell, and the only improvement she could detect was that so far this one hadn't exploded.

"What are you doing?" a voice asked.

Mytim started, the flaming ball flashing briefly before going out. She blinked, her eyes dazzled by the light and trying to adjust to the darkness outside.

"Who's there?" she demanded.

"This is highly irregular. I best go get Captain Virgii!"

"No!" she exclaimed. Panicking, Mytim flailed out at the intruder, not entirely sure what she intended, but intent on stopping whoever it was from ratting her out. There was a brief spark of power and she suddenly had a sense of...of connection. She could feel the other crewmember, knew it was someone she knew, but in her panic she concentrated only on erasing this incident from his mind, from preventing him from spreading her secret. As quickly as it started, the moment was over.

Her eyes were finally clearing enough for her to recognize Dr. Strobnick.

"Good day, madam," he said pleasantly, "Who are you?"

"Lieutenant Mytim," she said, trying to regain her composure, "We serve together on the Roadrunner.

"How nice." Strobnick nodded, "And who am I?"

Mytim blinked. This was potentially bad.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"We're almost there!" Boxer said, leading Laarthi through yet another thick group of bushes not far from the Roadrunner's landing zone, "Maybe we'll get lucky!"

"Right," Laarthi looked around nervously. Her night vision was excellent, but she still had to keep reminding herself that on a planet completely devoid of fauna, there is no way that bush over there could be shaking because something very large was trying to sneak in close enough to eat them.

"Here we are!" Boxer announced, gesturing towards a dark hole in a rock wall, "The tricorder can't tell if there are any of those fancy crystals we need, but it does say that there are some strange mineral deposits. We'll know when we get in closer,"

They eased into the cave, the dim light from Boxer's tricorder just enough for Laarthi's sharp eyes to see what was around them. Wait, no it wasn't. But there was a greenish glow coming from around the corner in the cave up ahead!

Laarthi moved forward and found herself entering a chamber. The ceiling, the walls and even patches of the floor were covered by some sort of creeping plant. The leaves glowed dully; the greenish-bluish light of bioluminescence.

"Very pretty," Boxer said, "Here, come take a look at this," he was gesturing towards a thick cluster of vines.

"Hold on," Laarthi squinted, seeing something in the distance. The light was glinting off something further down another tunnel. She snapped off a section of vine, failing to notice the look of fury that Boxer shot in her direction. Holding the glowing leaves in front of her, she wandered down the passage.

"Fossils!" she exclaimed, examining the cave wall. Thousands of tiny shells, worm shapes and various other dead, preserved living things lined the wall from floor to ceiling. She pulled out her own tricorder and started tapping away.

"Very nice, now come look at this!" Boxer called from the main chamber.

"No sign of any kind of cataclysmic event in the rock stata," she said, tapping away, "But of course we're not very deep...but if there are fossils this shallow, then clearly this planet did support animal life...and recently!"

She didn't notice Boxer walking up slowly behind her.

"I wonder what happened to it all?"

With a sharp move, Boxer struck Laarthi on the back of the head. The feline officer collapsed to the rocky floor without so much as a sound.

"I told you, you really have to see this!" Boxer exclaimed as he dragged her body back towards the waiting cluster of vines.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"OK Dr. Strobnick, are you ready to try again?" Mytim asked.

"Try what?"

"Just...sit there quietly. And don't look at me while I work!"

Mytim ran a finger down the page of her spellbook, which was currently turned to the chapter on 'Intellectual and Memorial Charms & Curses'. She still wasn't exactly sure how she'd managed to erase Strobnick's memory, or even whether she'd actually erased it or just blocked his access to it. But luckily she'd located a memory enhancement spell that had (she hoped) a good chance of making everything all better.

What she didn't have was the proper ingredients. She didn't have any Nightshade flowers, she didn't have any wolf's teeth and she didn't even know what a Daedra heart was. What she did have was a funny-looking flower from a plant that had started blooming after sunset, a replicated tiger fang and the heart of a plant that looked something like an artichoke.

"I really do wonder how it is I managed to walk out of the ship and wander around the place in the dark without my memory," Strobnick was saying to himself, "I mean, does that sound smart to you? It doesn't sound smart to me. Was I smart?"

"You managed to get us lost years from home thanks to your...difficulties...in working with the quantum slipstream drive," Mytim muttered, too distracted to keep her 'cool & disciplined' facade completely together.

"Well that doesn't sound very smart at all, does it?" Strobnick mused, "It wasn't a measurement conversion thing, was it? That strikes me as the height of stupidity,"

"I am sure I don't know," Mytim replied, trying for a moment to be pleasant. Damned right it was a conversion thing. But if that was popping into Strobnick's head, then that was a good sign. Wasn't it?

She carefully arranged the flower petals around the fang, then squeezed the quasi-artichoke heart until thin liquid dripped down onto the ground. Looking back to her book, she recited the incantation, then focused on willing Strobnick to get (most of) his memories back.

There was a brief spark, the smell of something burning, and a squeal of surprise. Mytim spun around to find Strobnick's hair on fire, the good doctor frantically slapping at himself in an effort to put it out.

"Oh no!" she exclaimed. She grabbed an empty bag from her rucksack and used it to smother the flames.

"I'm sorry!" she cried, "I think I know what I did wrong, let me just-"

"No thank you, madam!" Strobnick said sharply, scrambling away from her. "I think you've done quite enough!"

"But-"

Strobnick turned to run.

"Freeze!" she snapped, splaying out the fingers of her right hand. A blue bolt shot at Strobnick, who barely managed to dodge it. There was a flicker, then he vanished from sight.

Mytim stood there, blinking dumbly for a moment before she remembered that when they first met, Strobnick had been camouflaged right into a sofa.

"Right," she said, "Chameleon effect. So now I must not only get this spell right, I have to find my subject!"

This was going to be a long night.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Mammals," Boxer muttered to himself as he placed Laarthi's body on top of the vine cluster and watched as the mass reacted to her presence, slowly starting to entwine itself around her. "Why is it always mammals?"

Nobody answered, of course. Laarthi was unconscious, and the vine cluster had no vocal cords. Even if it did, it wasn't intelligent enough to put together a meaningful sentence. But it was still capable of some communication, releasing a small cloud of spores in Boxer's general direction.

"Many more," Boxer said, after sniffing the cloud carefully, "Grow quickly. I don't know how long it will take to bring them here."

Another puff of spores, little more than an acknowledgement.

"So much work to do," Boxer mused, walked cheerfully towards the mouth of the cave, "So many mammals to kill!"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Acting Captain Tyler Virgii was sitting on the ramp leading into the USS Roadrunner, one eye on his chrono and the other on the crew manifest. Everybody had reported back except for Boxer, Laarthi, Mytim and Strobnick. Boxer and Laarthi were dealing with the cat-in-the-tree issue, Mytim was camping out and he had no idea where Strobnick was. Mytim aside, all of them should have been back before dark. Any why had he let Mytim spend the night in the forest anyway? That violated about five of Virgii's Laws, and really didn't make good survival sense either.

Virgii stood and started pacing. There was a muted squeal followed by a happy laugh, barely audible thought the thick windows of the ship. Walking a few feet, Virgii looked up into the windows spaced around the edge of the Roadrunner's main hull. Apparently it was someone's birthday, as large amounts of cake had just been smeared all over a screaming Ensign.

"So good of them to invite me," Virgii grumbled, walking back towards the ramp. From this angle, the ship looked absolutely ludicrous. The gangway extended down from the lower surface of the hull towards the bow. (It formed the floor of the corridor leading to the main airlock when it wasn't extended.) Directly behind it were the two slender landing legs that kept the ship level, while the lower curve of the ring nacelle had thick pads that extended out maybe half a meter from the nacelle itself to provide cushioning between the sensitive equipment and the ground. There was a reason why so few Federation ships were actually capable of making planet fall, and their ridiculous appearance on the ground had to be a big part of it.

"Acting Captain Virgii, sir!"

Virgii spun around to see Boxer running from the dark trees, a frantic expression on his face.

"Lieutenant, where's Lieutenant Laarthi?" he demanded.

"She's lost!" Boxer exclaimed, "I, uh shook her out of the tree, and she panicked and ran off! I don't know where she went! I need to get search teams out there!"

"Oh, bollocks," Virgii muttered, "This is why, Mr. Boxer! This is why we can't go to nice places! I suppose we can't wait until morning? It's not like there are dangerous carnivores waiting to gobble her up,"

"Starfleet regulation number-"

"Never mind, you are of course completely correct," Virgii nodded, the appropriate regulation coming to mind before Boxer could finish...and before Virgii could wonder when Boxer started paying such close attention to regs. "Form search teams, fan out, and let's go find that cat!"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"This is an absolute disaster," Mytim said calmly. She'd had a few minutes to breath, to clear her mind and to rebuild her dignity. Now she just had to track down a camouflaged alien in the dark before he could make his way to the ship, then figure out how to un-erase his memory using substitute ingredients for a magic spell that, up until a matter of days ago, she would have dismissed as absolute nonsense. Sure. Nothing big.

OK, where to start? She flipped through the pages of her book. Locating spell? Wouldn't that be handy! Something she could use to just home in on Strobnick's location, almost like using a tricorder to track his life-signs!

Squeezing her eyes shut for a moment and smacking her forehead with one palm, Mytim pulled her tricorder out of her pocked and started scanning. Hmmm. That was strange. She'd expected to see a cluster of life-signs near the ship, with maybe one or two in the surrounding countryside. Instead, it looked like teams of two were combing the area for something. What were they looking for? Strobnick?

Her?

She made a quick adjustment to her tricorder to try masking her own life-signs, then quickly moved towards the nearest team. Crewman Billings and Crewman Kessar were wandering along the edge of a treed area, shining their lights around and squinting into the darkness.

"I can't believe we got hauled out of bed to look for the cat!" Billings was complaining loudly, "I was going to dream about Orion slave girls tonight!"

"How do you know that?" Kessar asked.

"Cuz I've been using this neat book on dream control," Billings said proudly, "All it takes is a keen, sharp mind!"

"Uh-huh,"

So, it was Laarthi they were after. Mytim sighed in relief and was about to announce herself to the pair when another life-sigh approached...one that was giving some very, very strange readings.

"Hi guys!" Boxer said happily, stepping out of the shadows, "Hey, I hear something over here, can you help me check it out?"

"Sure thing, Lieutenant," Billings said.

Frowning as she stared at Boxer's tricorder readings, Mytim barely heard Boxer trying to convince the other two to try these great mushrooms he'd found. What she didn't miss was the sudden scream after they refused.

She looked up to see Boxer with a hand firmly gripping a shoulder on each crewman. Long, slender tendrils had extended from his eyes, ears and mouth and were in the process of stabbing into Billings and Kessar. The scream was cut off as the two crewmen fell to the ground, shaking and twitching.

"Eating the mushrooms doesn't hurt anywhere NEAR as much!" Boxer said cheerfully, the tendrils retracting from view. After a moment, Billings and Kessar rose to their feet.

"I have recruited enough now," Boxer said, "Gather the rest in the Blood Caves while I take care of their ship,"

Without a word, the other two turned and walked away, barely missing Mytim.

Suddenly, Strobnick seemed like the least of her worries.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Acting Captain Virgii woke to a dull headache, and a very sore shin.

"WAKE UP!" Another kick, right on the sore spot. Ow.

"Stop this at once!" he groaned, opening his eyes. He was in a dimly lit cave surrounded by phosphorescent leaves and vines. Off to his left was a tightly-wrapped bundle of vines with Laarthi's head sticking out the top. She'd managed to free one leg, but even as he watched the vines reached out and encased it again. Virgii struggled to move his arms, then looked down and realized he was encased in a similar vine-cocoon. The last thing he remembered, he'd just turned away from Boxer, then there'd been nothing but darkness. Oh, this was looking to be just smashing.

"Where are we? What happened?" he demanded. What, you thought he was going to ask who won the last World Series?

"We're in a cave. Boxer dragged you in here about half an hour after he knocked me out and stuffed me in this trap!"

"Why would he do that, I wonder? Treating other Starfleet personnel like this is against regulations, and I'm sure Mr. Boxer-"

"Sir?" Laarthi prompted.

"Yes?"

"If you don't shut up about the regulations, I'm going to have Boxer come back and shove a mushroom down your throat!"

"But Virgii's Law number-"

"Shut up and listen to me!" Laarthi snapped, "There are fossils further down the cave! Signs that this planet used to have animal life! Now it's all gone and Boxer started attacking me and tying us up in this cave shortly after he started eating the local fungus. Doesn't that make you think of anything? Anything come to your mind?"

Virgii thought for a moment.

"You really must be more respectful of your superiors, Lieutenant," he said, "I promise you, I will not forget this behaviour when I write your quarterly review!"

"It's some kind of fungal parasite!" Laarthi exclaimed, "Boxer isn't smart enough to do something like this on his own! He's being controlled! There's no animal life on this planet because this fungus thing doesn't WANT there to be any! If we don't break free and stop him, we're all going to DIE!"

Virgii thought this over for a moment.

"Still, that's no excuse for such insubordination," he said.

Laarthi let her head bang back against the vine cluster holding her.

"Let's try this again," she said.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Mytim was panting hard as she ran through the trees, trying to beat Boxer to the ship. She had no idea what he had planned, or rather what the thing controlling him had planned, but clearly she had to do something! She'd tried raising Laarthi and Virgii on her comm-badge, but they hadn't answered. She'd ditched the heavy pack she'd taken out to her campsite and now had only her standard Starfleet gear and her spell book.

She burst out of the trees and into the clearing. The Roadrunner was less than three hundred meters away, the windows warmly lit despite the fact that the ship was deserted. A single dark figure could be seen walking briskly towards the gangway.

Boxer!

There was no way she could reach him. Pulling out her phaser, she quickly made sure it was set to stun, aimed and fired.

And missed.

Boxer looked frantically around, but she was nearly invisible as she crouched near the trees. He turned back to the ship and started running. Mytim charged after him, firing her weapon. She missed her target again, but this time the beam struck the Roadrunner, inches away from the control panel attached to the gangway ramp. With a shower of sparks, the ramp abruptly started to close, the external hull plates neatly sliding shut over it as it vanished into the ship.

Mytim blinked in surprise. That was lucky.

Boxer spun around to face her.

"Meddling mammal!" he spat.

"Yes well, you're certainly a rude...whatever you are!" Mytim shot back. Unfortunately, her efforts to be Miss Proper really didn't help out when it was time for a really good insult. But enough of that, she still had her phaser!

She fired at Boxer again, only have the beam blocked as a cluster of vines ripped out of the ground, forming a wall between her and the other officer. Behind the writhing plant mass, she could barely see Boxer turning back to the ship, no doubt to start entering the codes to lower the ramp into the other panel set into the port landing strut.

Thumbing the power up on her phaser, Mytim fired again, this time disintegrating several of the tendrils. Boxer whirled back briefly, anger flashing on his face. More vines rose from the ground, but not before Mytim could see the tendrils emerging from Boxer's mouth, nose, ears and eyes and stretching to the control panel.

"Ohhh...yuck," Mytim groaned, firing her phaser again. This time a vine shot out from the ground, knocking the weapon away.

"Very well, I have other arrangements," Mytim said, pulling out her spellbook. "Let me see...taburculan, estoritas!"

What was supposed to happen was that a burst of electricity should have shot from her hand to the control panel Boxer's new accessories were trying to use. What happened instead was a rather pathetic little zap that barely reached the waving vine wall. But the effect was immediate.

Boxer spun around from the panel, the vine wall immediately retracting into the ground. The vine that had taken her phaser had likewise vanished. Boxer himself continued sprouting tendrils that continued to slide and twine around his body.

"Lupressa!" he hissed, several tendrils shooting straight out, like a cat raising its heckles.

"I beg your pardon?" Mytim asked.

"I have your servants," Boxer said, ignoring the question, "You may escape...but without them, you will wither!"

"I...beg your pardon?" Mytim asked again, even more confused.

But at this Boxer just crossed his arms and closed his eyes. Vines suddenly erupted from all around Mytim, encasing her in a tight cocoon.

Packed, she pushed out with all her might, imagining the flaming sphere she'd conjured earlier.

Nothing.

Ice! It had been an ICE sphere she'd been trying to create before!

This time a burst of flames surrounded her, causing the vines to shrivel. Fire burst into the air in a great column as a great ball of flaming energy gathered in the sky, hundreds of meters above her head. Breaking free, she shot one hand out towards Boxer, fingers splayed.

"PURIFY!" she shouted.

Riddled by tiny sparks, the tendrils emerging from Boxer started to writhe, many of them dropping to the ground and crumbling. Even as they did, newer, fresher tendrils emerged. Energy poured from Mytim's hand, washing over Boxer and tearing at the alien life that had infested him.

"STOP!" Boxer shouted, "YOUR KILLING-"

"Killing who?" Mytim demanded, exhilarated by the energy pouring through her body, "Lt. Boxer? He looks fine to me! You're the one that's dying!"

"No! Not this animal!" Boxer shouted, "You're killing the...this world!"

"What?"

Mytim looked down. The grass beneath her feet was already dead, withered away to a few desiccated strands. Even as she watched the foliage around her was turning brown, then black. Meters away, the bushes and first straggling trees near the edge of the meadow were sickening, their leaves yellowing then falling to the ground.

Mytim forced herself to lower her hand, stopping the improvised purification spell she'd been trying on Boxer.

"Too late," the infested alien groaned, falling to the ground.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Still in the cave, Laarthi and Virgii were contemplating the vine-wrapped shapes of the other crewmembers. Billings, Kessar and other had escorted crewmates to vine-clusters, then stepped into open clusters themselves. There'd been the sounds of gagging and some groans, but neither of them had any idea what that meant. (Nor did they really want to think about it.)

"Well, that's everybody but Lt. Boxer, Lt. Mytim and Dr. Strobnick," Virgii said, "Really, nobody remembered any of the intruder-management protocols?"

"You can't count Boxer, he's the infested one," Laarthi corrected him tiredly, "And I don't think we have a protocol for 'fungal-infested kidnapper'."

"Actually, Regulation 254, paragraph-"

"Shut up," Laarthi said firmly.

"Lieutenant, that is highly insubordinate!"

"Shut up, sir," Laarthi amended.

"There," Virgii nodded in approval, "Was that so hard?" He frowned. "Hey, wait!"

There was a rush of footsteps from the foot of the cave, then the sound of heavy breathing.

"Who's there!?" Virgii demanded, "Identify yourself at once!"

"I'm...well, I guess I'm Dr. Strobnick?" a voice said.

"You GUESS?" Virgii exclaimed.

"Where are you?" Laarthi demanded.

"Can't you see me?"

"No! You're doing the camouflage thing!"

"What camouflage thing?"

Virgii and Laarthi exchanged a look. This was not productive.

"Forget it. Can you just get us out of these vines?"

"How?" Strobnick's voice asked.

"A phaser? A knife? A sharp rock? ANYTHING!" Laarthi shouted.

"Very well," the voice said. There was a pause. "And where might I find one of those?"

Laarthi banged her head against the vine-covered rock wall.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Get away from here," Boxer said weakly, lying on the ground.

"Boxer?" Mytim asked.

"No, I'm still here," a tendril emerged from Boxer's left nostril, "You have to get away from this planet!"

"I thought your plan was to kill all of us," Mytim said, nonplussed.

Boxer weakly pointed up.

The fireball Laarthi had conjured was still floating in the sky, crackling away. In fact, it was still growing. Fast.

Laarthi waved a hand, concentrating on ending the spell she'd used to free herself from the vines. Nothing happened. A burst of energy shot from the sphere, obliterating a large tree. She tried again, this time calling out the 'cancel spell' incantation she'd found in her book.

"It's too late for that now," Boxer said, "You're going to destroy my entire world."

"I'm not doing this!" Mytim objected, "I'm not the world-destroying kind of person!"

The infested Boxer looked at her for a minute.

"Maybe not. But you've already started it. If you leave now, if you get far enough away, the storm may end. Please!"

"Let my crewmates go," Mytim said suddenly seeing how to get out of this situation, "And we'll leave."

Boxer abruptly started gagging and dry heaving. Mytim watched in horror as he hacked up a wad of plant tissue nearly the size of an egg. He looked around, looked at the growing inferno in the sky, then over at Mytim.

"Hi," he said, coughing, "Um. What's happening?"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"This rock isn't sharp either," Strobnick complained, sawing away at a vine.

"Then either find another one, or stop complaining and keep cutting!" Laarthi said. Suddenly, the vines around the Roadrunner officers snapped open, releasing them.

"What the..."

"Back to the ship!" Virgii said immediately, "Let's get out of here!"

They bolted for the mouth of the cave, only to come to a halt as they saw the scene outside.

A writing cloud of flaming energy, no longer spherical but instead an amorphous blob well over a kilometre in diameter was now hovering in the sky, right above where Laarthi estimated the ship to be. Bolts of energy were shooting down, igniting the forest around them. Several fires were already raging and smoke was thickening the air.

"Did we miss something?" Virgii asked, right before they dissolved into transporter sparkles.

They materialized in the Roadrunner's cramped transporter alcove.

"Off the pad," Mytim said, standing behind the operator's console, little more than a panel extending out from the corridor wall, "I've got to bring in the rest of the crew! Get the ship ready to lift off!"

"What's that thing outside?" Laarthi demanded as Virgii ran towards the bridge.

"Angry aliens," Mytim lied, running her hands over the panel and beaming up three more crewmembers. She repeated the command to get off the pad to clear the way for the next batch.

Hurring to the bridge, Laarthi nearly took Boxer's head off when she saw the Sheppian sitting at the security panel.

"Mytim said to tell you that she removed the fungal spores that were infesting me!" he said pleasantly.

"How can I believe you?" Laarthi snapped. Next to her, Virgii was gagging.

"She said you guys would ask me that," Boxer said, "And to show you that jar," he pointed to Virgii. Laarthi realized he was holding a sample jar filled with spongy, phlem-covered plant stuff. Her own stomach heaving, Laarthi dropped into the pilot seat and started to power up the ships systems. Outside the bridge windows, the inferno continued to grow.

"Mytim to bridge!" the comm chirped, "I've got everybody! Let's go!"

"Let's go, Lieutenant!" Virgii said, gingerly placing the sample jar under his seat.

With a burst from her engines, the Roadrunner lifted off. Skimming the treetops, Laarthi kept the ship low until they were out from under the surging flames, then shot up towards space.

Mytim flew through the hatch into the bridge and jumped into her seat at the science station.

"The...storm or whatever it is is losing power," she said, sounding incredibly relieved. "It's shrinking the further we move from the planet,"

"That's strange," Virgii frowned, "Cause?"

"Um..." Mytim hesitated, "I would guess that since we're gone, the hostile aliens no longer feel the need to...to do what they were doing."

"Why would they kidnap us, trap us underground, then start destroying the surface of their own planet with a massive fireball?" Virgii wondered.

"Ships dropping out of warp!" Boxer called from tactical, "I'm picking up four unknown ships! Make that nine. Um, fifeteen. Twenty two?"

"On screen!" Virgii ordered. On the display screen, the image of one of the incoming ships appeared. The ship was a fat ovoid shape with dozens of spines emerging in all directions. It almost looked like a pufferfish.

"Those look like spores," Mytim said quietly.

Right. Or like spores.

"I think we should leave, now," Laarthi said from the helm.

"I agree. Take us to warp," Virgii ordered.

The ship shot into warp speed.

"They alien ships are pursuing!" Boxer reported, "I'm picking up...they're launching torpedoes!"

Without waiting for orders Laarthi dropped the ship out of warp, pivoted ninety degrees, then shot into warp again. The torpedoes shot by, their lock on the ship lost. Starfleet Intelligence training was good for something, after all!

"They're coming around again!" Boxer reported.

"Strong energy readings from their engines," Mytim said, reading her scanner displays, "I'm pretty sure they can outrun us at warp!"

"Suggestions?" Virgii asked.

"We could hail them," Boxer offered.

"They already shot at us!"

Mytim abruptly rose from her seat, marched over to Strobnick's panel and slammed her hand down on the activation controls for the quantum slipstream drive.

Time on the bridge seemed to stick for about a second (or maybe it was an eternity?) then space directly in front of them seemed to bulge out, like the ship was pushing its way through a film of jello. With an almost physical tearing sensation the starry black of normal space pulled away to reveal the shimmering tunnel of slipstream drive.

"ARE YOU CRAZY? " Laarthi demanded, "Now we're all going to DIE!"

"Well...maybe?" Virgii swallowed.

"There's no way the aliens can track us at this speed!" Mytim said, "And besides, we can drop out before-"

"Warning," the computer spoke up, "Subspace fi-"

Whatever the computer had detected, they didn't have the chance to hear about it before the ship lurched harder than a drunken college student rushing for the toilet. The shimmering tunnel outside the bridge windows vanished as the shriek of strained systems thrummed through the ship's structure. Mytim's hand slammed down on the emergency drive shutdown. The sound faded, but the ship continued spiralling out of control until, slowly, Laarthi managed to stabilize her.

"Damage report?" Virgii demanded, quickly checking to make sure the fungus thingy hadn't escaped from the jar. (It hadn't...that would have been the last straw on the camel's back.)

"We burned out an SIF generator," Laarthi reported after a moment, having quickly pulled up the engineering display on one of her side panels, "backups kicked in, but it will have to be rebuilt. The fish aquarium in the mess fell over, but Crewman Kessar managed to get them into a bowl," she paused, "Other than that, we're OK,"

"A few bumps and bruises among the crew," Boxer reported, "We're in interstellar space. Nothing on the sensors for five light-years in any direction,"

"Well," Virgii said, glaring at Mytim, "I'd say we got off lucky, then!"

You have no idea, Mytim thought to herself.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Acting Captain's Log, Stardate 59435.2:

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Despite being kidnapped by a dog infested with fungal spores, narrowing escaping a ball of energy the size of a small city, being chased by an alien death fleet and topping everything off with an uncontrolled jump though an unstable slipstream, that was a pretty successful supply run. We got...water. And plants. And some useful minerals that will no doubt come in handy as we repair the minor damage from our...our..."

"Oh bollocks. Virgii's Law #312: No crewmember shall ingest mushrooms of any kind on an unknown world!"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Satisfied that he'd taken the required action to ensure that something like this never happened again, Virgii turned his attention to the cramped medical bay where an old Emergency Medical Hologram Mark 1 was running a medical tricorder over Dr. Strobnick.

"I can't account for the cause of his memory loss," the EMH said in a dull voice, "There are some unusual energy readings in his cortex, but they seem to be dissipating. The patient already reports regaining some memory, so I suspect that this is a transient event, somehow related to whatever recent incident you undoubtedly managed to get yourself into.

"How much do you remember?" Mytim asked, looking intently at Strobnick.

"At the moment, my last memory is departing for Starbase 341," Strobnick said slowly. "Wait, now I remember having lunch while en route. And supper!"

"Hmm. Well, it sounds like all's well then. No damage done," Virgii nodded briskly, then turned to Mytim.

"Keep an eye on him, would you? There's a good girl," With that, he left.

Mytim, of course, had no intention of letting Strobnick out of her sight. Not until she knew how much of his memory he managed to regain. After that, she had a lot of figuring out to do. Like what the heck was a 'Lupressa', and why did the fungal alien think she was one? And how the heck had she triggered that storm? And was the effect she'd had on the meadow's foliage because of the purifying spell she'd used on Boxer, or was there something else at work there?

Whatever the answers to those questions, Mytim was going to have to be very, very careful before she tried using her magic (or whatever it was) again.


	7. 7 - Dance Off

Star Traks: Halfway to Haven 1.7 – "Dance-Off"

* * *

Station Log, Stardate 59398.4

"Y'know, all I want is a cup of fresh coffee. Y'know? Not replicated, not instant. We've got six Atriums, three of them setup to be malls, and the Transit Hub has enough real estate for a subdivision. But do we have a coffee shop? NOOO!

"I heard that starting up a new outpost can be boring. Like, really boring. I looked at some of the early logs from the nearest Federation outpost, and man were they bored. 'Lt. Russell got his head stuck in an access panel'. 'Lt. Porter finished building hood ornaments for all three runabouts'. 'Dr. Nelson taught her slug to do The Worm'. Those people almost went crazy."

"I'd be worrying the same, except I think it's already too late. Lt. Stoneryder seems to have learned a lesson from his flogging and is finally setting up his security office in Atrium 1, but he still breaks out in a sweat and starts twitching anytime Colonel Abela enters the room. Not sure why, she did an expert job with his…er…punishment. She didn't even leave a mark! But maybe it's from almost getting zapped to death by that force-field during the Atlantis incident. Whatever. Lt. Cmdr Wyer is still repairing some of the structural damage his little bomb did to the lakebed along with a few other things, and he hasn't shown any signs of being taken over again by crazy past-lives...yet. But he keeps disappearing for hours at a time! Doesn't tell anybody where he's going, just vanishes into the city. Lt. Franches and his Jungle Squad are looking for long underwear that goes with their loincloths and Dr. Annerson is going to teach Shurgroe to skate now that the lake is done freezing over…OH!"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"OH!" Captain Elizabeth Simplot jumped out of the chair she'd commandeered in Haven's Command Center and started fluttering her hands in the air.

"OH!" she repeated, "OH! OH!"

"Is there a problem out there?" Colonel Myress Abela demanded, stepping through the door to her small 'upstairs' office. (Ops had several small rooms hidden behind the second level, smaller versions of the much bigger offices located lower in the command tower.)

"No! I did it!" Simplot said excitedly.

"Did what?"

"I came up with a better name for Franches' Civil Protection Team!" Simplot exclaimed.

"I thought we'd agreed," Abela frowned, "that you weren't going to run around renaming things! And in return, I wasn't going to shove you out an airlock!"

"Oh, Abela," Simplot shook her head, "Can't we, like, program the translator so that your boring, Matrian names translate to my cooler names and vice versa?"

"That doesn't help if my people start using your idiotic ideas!"

"Well, if they like them better…"

"What's your bright idea then?" Abela asked angrily, giving the Matrian staff present a 'don't you dare' look.

"Jungle Squad!" Simplot giggled, "It just rolled off my tongue! I didn't even have to think about it!"

Abela rolled her eyes.

"I'm not calling them that," she declared firmly.

"Queen Anselia-"

"Can eat fish eggs!" Abela snapped, "She doesn't name things here either, and if you think you're going to the leader of our society just because you have a-"

"No," Lieutenant Fissett, one of the Matrian Ops crew interrupted, "Queen Anselia is on the comm,"

"And We really don't care for fish eggs, Colonel," the holographic head of Queen Anselia said acidly from the central holo-table.

"On Earth, caviar is a delicacy," Captain Simplot said, turning to the table and smiling without missing a beat.

"Charming," Anselia said, her mouth curling slightly.

Abela swallowed, embarrassed. "What can we do for you, your highness?"

"Have you heard of the Matronus Restoration Society?" Anselia asked.

"Nope," Captain Simplot said at once, "Do they have an acronym?"

"They're a research group," Abela replied, giving Simplot a confused look, "They've been researching Old Matrian architecture and construction techniques from before the Gender Wars,"

"Exactly," Anselia nodded, "And no, Captain. They don't have an acronym. They've just finished studying the Old Matrian naval base on Quatrios Island and have expressed an interest in studying Haven next,"

"Quatrios Island?" Simplot wondered.

"Home," Lt. Franches said from the security console, a towel tossed over his seat (at Abela's insistence) in case his loin cloth should fail to cover his entire nether region, "My people split off from Matrian society early in the war...we descended from the soldiers stationed at the base,"

"Ohhh!" Simplot nodded, "And here I thought the vine-swinging and loincloth was just a Matrian police thing! Do I sense a back-story?"

"It's a beautiful place," Anselia acknowledged, "We vacationed there after the Qu'Eh were defeated. Oh, the tranquil evenings...the fresh foods...the love-making in the jungle..."

"Nicely done, your Highness" Abela nodded.

At his control pulpit, Wyer frowned. That was not the sort of thing a human woman might have said, but then these were Matrian women after all. You'd almost expect that if they'd been in the same room together, a high-five might have been in order.

"MATRESS!" Simplot suddenly exclaimed.

"I beg your pardon?" Anselia asked, shaking her head slightly as she came back to the current moment.

"MATronus REStoration Society!" Simplot exclaimed, "MATRESS!"

"You can pass that on to them when they arrive," Anselia said.

"I thought nobody was allowed aboard Haven until you guys finished figuring out all the logistic stuff down there?" Simplot asked.

"We are making an exception for this group, based on their historical research," Anselia replied.

"About that," Abela jumped in, "Do you know when we might start getting citizens? Or work contracts for the shipyards? The city is still a ghost town, and we've been here over a month!"

"All in good time, Colonel," Anselia replied, "Haven has waited two centuries for citizens, a few more months won't hurt. Matrian Government Complex out,"

Abela glared at the blank screen.

"What is there to figure out?" she snapped, "The two orbital shipyards that actually survived the war and the Qu'Eh invasion are horribly back-logged, it'll be months before the shipyards in orbit of Matria III can produce so much as a shuttle pod and we just happen to have six state of the art shipyards, only one of which is doing anything constructive! If you count rebuilding an old clunker of a Starfleet ship as constructive!"

"That 'old clunker' saved your civilization," Lt. Wyer pointed out quietly from his panel.

"Get back to your orbital calculations, mister!" Abela snapped.

"No," Wyer said firmly, rising from his station, "I am going to 45 Bahkar Street to perform a structural analysis on the repair work done by the construction bots, after which I will be examining the building at 732 Lakeshore Blvd, which as you know was damaged by the Death Star. Should I find myself with extra time afterward I will continue trying to adjust our orbit so that we have only a single sunrise and sunset. Not before,"

With a cold look in Abela's direction, he stepped quickly down the two flights of stairs to the turbolift column and left.

"Ahem," Simplot cleared her throat, "Open purse, remove balls. Apparently."

"Aren't Starfleet officers supposed to understand a little thing called the 'Chain of Command'?" Abela demanded.

"You've been riding him pretty hard the last few weeks," Simplot said, "Besides...everything he just mentioned is stuff that he's supposed to do,"

"I want him written up for insubordination!"

"Oh come on, Abela. We could just as well write you up for harassment!"

Abela just crossed her arms.

"How about a note to file?" Simplot tried weakly.

"Oh, very well!"

Simplot looked around the command deck, but somebody had slipped into Wyer's abandoned chair, leaving all the workstations full.

"I guess I'll be in my office," she said.

"Just use one of the screens on the second level," Abela waved, seated comfortably at the central holo-table.

"But I don't have those weird gestures figured out yet!"

"All the better to learn," Abela said firmly, "now that Wyer has managed to get the gesture recognition system working properly. Somehow."

With a sigh, Simplot stepped down to the second level and stood in front of one of the huge screens. At the moment, it was displaying security footage from the Transit Hub. Of course, with the city all but deserted this footage consisted of little more than the occasional passing tram.

"Identify, Simplot, Captain," she said, holding up her right hand. The screen quickly switched over to the Matrian Welcome Interface. After thinking for a moment, Simplot jabbed her right elbow behind her, opening her personnel records. A hand movement downward with fingers wriggling scrolled her through the list of names until she found Wyer's file. A quick hip-bump to the left opened it, then a quick chop with her left hand started a new note.

"This is a lot easier with a keyboard," Simplot called up, "You know? Point and click? Oops!" Apparently, turning her head like that was the command to call up the spell check. "Abela, how to I close this fricking spell checker!"

"Right hip bump," Abela called absently.

"I feel like an idiot," Simplot fumed quietly. She banished the unwanted spell checker with the indicated gesture, then began dictating the notes.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Lieutenant Wyer was fuming as he rode a tram out to one of the clusters of buildings commonly referred to as the Suburbs. Who the hell did Abela think she was? Queen Bitch of the Universe? He had a lot of work to do in this city, especially considering that his staff consisted of a dozen Matrians who knew about as much about Old Matrian design as he did. He didn't have time to fiddle around with orbital mechanics just so Abela could be happy with her fricking sunrises!

The tram hissed to a stop at an underground station. Sure, the tracks on the surface gave a much better view, if underground and surface could really apply to a space city. But the underground tracks were heated, and it was pretty cold up there. Wyer would love to set the city back to Summer Mode, but the last time he'd fiddled with the weather system he'd managed to get it stuck on Winter. He'd also had a past-life incident that almost resulted in the city being blown up. So fiddling with the environment wasn't exactly something he was eager to repeat.

He found a double-wide corridor that ran parallel to Bahkar Street and began walking. Despite being below street level, this part of the city felt surprising spacious. Entrances to the towering buildings, either commercial office complexes or residential towers, were spaced at almost regular intervals, usually with broad metal & glass windows set into patterned stone. Several small shops were evident as well, all vacant of course, and the occasional park-like space complete with skylight broke the otherwise lifeless design. Someday, this would be a really nice neighbourhood...assuming the Matrians ever started letting people move into the city.

After tapping in his access code and walking quickly through the lower lobby of number 45 (done up in a mahogany-like wood) Wyer rode the lift to the penthouse floor. The rooftop pool hadn't been drained before the city had been locked down, and the expanding ice had burst through the pool deck when the city had shifted to winter. After a minor battle with the Matrians in Shipyard 3, Lt. Shurgroe had gotten him the construction bots he'd needed to have the repairs done.

Speaking of Lt. Shurgroe, the lanky human was bent over the collapsed form of a Matrian construction bot, his close-cropped hair patterned in the usual cabalistic symbols.

"Hey Wyer," Shurgroe said, waving casually with one hand as the other gingerly poked at the bot. The lack of stutter indicated that Shurgroe was up-to-date on taking his medication...for once.

"Problem with the equipment?" Wyer asked.

"Only if I have too much to drink before...oh. You meant the bot." Shurgroe flushed slightly. Wyer just stared at him blankly. "Nevermind. Yeah. This thing walked all the way from Shipyard 3 back here – through the snow – and I can't for the life of me figure out why!"

"Weird," Wyer nodded. He pulled out an engineering tricorder and started scanning the ceiling of the spacious penthouse suite.

"You'll probably have to climb up to the loft to get a good reading," Shurgroe said helpfully, "Nice place, huh? I might try to get my name on the waiting list in case they ever open up the building."

"Yes," Wyer agreed flatly. He began climbing the spiral staircase that led to the second level of the suite and from there to the third level, the loft. All three levels opened onto an open space, the far wall of which consisted of windows looking out towards the Inner Rim of the city. Banks of apartments, their windows dark, were visible below the 'horizon'. Above was a beautiful view of Matria Prime. "I think I'd rather have something closer to the lake," he said.

But Shurgroe wasn't listening anymore. He was talking to somebody who'd just entered the suite.

"Yeah, he just got here," Shurgroe was saying, "He's upstairs."

"Thank you, Mr. Director," a female voice replied, "Has there been any sign of activity from Atlantis?"

"Nope! Checked the lakebed myself this morning. It's still parked there. Half covered in sand already. It'll probably be buried by next week."

Tuning them out, Wyer examined the loft. Yup, the structural repairs were up to standard. He could get a crew in here anytime to tear up the carpets and take care of the cosmetic water damage...a crew that would probably consist of perhaps two Matrians, if he could spare them from the lakebed analysis.

Making a note on his padd he turned to leave, only to find himself face-to-face with a blond-haired Matrian woman. She was dressed in the standard fatigues of the Matrian Defence Force, however where most MDF members on the city had a badge depicting a simple bird's eye view of Haven on their right shoulder, her Haven badge had one of the six structures along Haven's rim coloued in, with a Matrian number 3 stamped over the center of the city. She had strong features that, on a human, would have been described as 'Nordic'. She was nearly his height, and had that solid (yet still female) build that distinguished the Matrian women from most other races.

"I'm...uh, that is. Good after...good morning. Um..." Wyer swallowed nervously, "Hi?"

"Lt. Wyer, I take it?" she asked, her voice perfectly polite.

"Y-yes sir. I mean ma'am! I mean...uh..." he tried to read the rank on her uniform, "Yes, major?"

"Major Dekaire, Master Shipbuilder, Shipyard 3, Silverado reconstruction," she said formally, reaching out to shake his hand. Wyer stared blankly at the outstretched hand. Dekaire, looking annoyed, was just starting to pull it back when Wyer reached out, grabbed it and gave it a nervous shake.

"My pleasure," he gulped.

"Colonel Abela asked me to meet you here, to help out with the structural verification," Dekaire explained, "Since it was my bots that did the work,"

"Oh! Of course. I...that is..."

"But I can see you've got everything under control," Dekaire went on.

Wyer stumbled for a reply, then settled for a nod. Dekaire gestured for him to precede her down the stairs.

"I'm sure Colonel Abela will be glad to hear you have everything well in hand," she said once they'd reached the main floor. She gave him a quick glance over from head to toe, "But please, Lieutenant, if you need any help with anything, I'd be more than happy to sit down with you and give you whatever...help...you might need,"

She gave a suggestive smile, then left.

Shurgroe was staring at Wyer, his jaw hanging down around his knees with shock.

"What the heck!?" he exclaimed, "I had to build a malfunctioning, homicidal AI just to get that woman's attention, and you just have to wave a tricorder around for thirty seconds?"

"She is very...uh, that is...I mean." Wyer swallowed yet again, "She's very attractive."

"Yeah, I can tell," Shurgroe said, "By the way, the next time that happens, you might want to put a padd over it,"

"Over what?"

"Your...uh, just never mind."

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Remind me again why we couldn't use the transporter pads under City Hall?" Captain Simplot was asking as she and Colonel Abela rode a lift from the Hillsbrook Tram Station up to one of the observation levels for Hanger Bay 1.

"First, because there is no City Hall," Abela said sharply, "There is the Command Tower and the adjoining Departmental towers. Second, because these researchers, though I applaud their work, are not VIPs or high-security persons requiring the secure pads, and finally because they're arriving in a shuttle anyway,"

"I wanna see what's down there!" Simplot whined.

"All in good time," Abela assured her.

"Yeah, right," Simplot muttered. They stepped out of the lift and walked down a corridor towards the hanger bay. Soon, one wall of the corridor was replaced with a series of windows looking into the ten-level chamber. This hanger, the only hanger that had been open to the outside world while Haven had been buried under the desert, had a central structure that supported several mobile landing pads. As they watched, the two pads closest to them slid neatly up into an opening in the roof. Panels slid into place, hiding the opening. From the open door to the control booth at the end of the corridor they could hear the voice of the bay controller.

"Set approach vector to 000 mark 4," the male voice said, "Stand by, bay doors opening."

The massive hexagonal door was divided into six segments arranged around a central seventh panel. As they watched, the three segments closest to them and towards the deck opened outward, like the petals of a flower. The seventh spit in half, the lower half opening with the lower outer segment. A tall, narrow craft nosed into the bay, at least three decks high but still narrow enough to fit between the wall of the hanger and the central platform support.

"An old Regal-class short-range transport!" Abela said, beaming with pleasure, "Why, I haven't seen one of those since Haven was sealed! Let's go down and greet our guests! Maybe they'll let us take a look at the interior? Ohhh, I wonder if they restored the leather upholstery in the passenger compartment?"

"Oh I just wonder," Simplot sighed, rolling her eyes.

They took a flight of stairs down a few levels to the main deck, then stepped through a pair of heavy double doors into the bay itself. A pair of Matrian women were standing by the ship's hatch, dressed in the plain robes of Matrian academia.

"Colonel Abela! Such a pleasure to meet you!" the woman on the right practically gushed. She gave a sort of half-bow, her short, dark hair barely moving. Gel, Simplot wondered? "Dr. Volergal. I'm sorry we're a bit late, but they were trying to direct us to Bay 2, and of course-"

"-it's the odd-numbered bays that are best configured for a Regal-class," Abela said cheerfully, "Such a surprise that you'd know that! The design of the city-"

"Is available under the Old Matrian Act," Volergal finished, referring to a piece of law that was making information on their past accessible to the average Matrian, "Plus there was a lot of useful information in that jungle outpost. Not that it can compare to your city, of course,"

Abela tittered.

"Hi, I'm Captain Elizabeth Simplot," Simplot said, trying to break into the conversation, "I'm the Station Commander-"

"Where did you get this ship?" Abela cut her off.

"Why, from Haven, Hanger Bay 7," Volergal smiled, "It was one of the ships found with the city and taken down to Matria Prime for study,"

"Of course," Abela nodded.

"But I'd love to see the city itself," Volergal went on, "Maybe from the nearest Dome Illumination control room? I believe there's one very close to here?"

"Right this way," Abela said pleasantly, "Captain Simplot, I'm sure you can show the rest of Dr. Volergal's team to their quarters? We've got them setup in guest quarters, Tower 5, downtown. Meet us in the Command Complex in an hour,"

With that, Volergal and Abela strolled away, chattering away happily about...something or other. Simplot turned to see that another dozen or so robed Matrians, mostly women, had emerged from the ship and were looking at her expectantly.

"Right this way," Simplot said, forcing a smile onto her face.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"That was humiliating," Shurgroe said.

"Now Josh, just relax," Dr. Janet Annerson said, patting his hand, "I'm sure you'll be just fine,"

"But-"

"And you got through ordering our drinks and appetizer without stuttering at all!" Annerson went on, "Have you been taking your meds, for once?" He eyes darted over at Wyer, "Did you remind him? Of course not. Everybody reminds him, but he never listens!"

The three of them were seated in the Silver Stallion Steakhouse, a large lounge/sports bar looking out into Shipyard 3. The crew of the ship being rebuilt had (clandestinely) converted it into a restaurant, seeing as how the Matrian government had forbidden any development of the city until such time as they decided how to handle everything. Lt. Stoneryder had been the original Haven officer to find the place, but once he took Simplot there on a date (not knowing she was his CO) the rest of the Starfleet staff had quickly been clued in. On the condition that the place never be mentioned to Abela or any of the Matrian staff.

"Now, what was so humiliating, Josh?" Annerson asked, snagging a cocktail shrimp from the center of the table, "Are you having trouble with those ladies in the shipyard again? Are they giving you a hard time?"

"He was talking about me," Wyer broke in, staring at the table.

"Were you giving Josh a hard time?" Annerson asked sternly. She frowned. "Josh, I don't think you should be making advances to your coworkers. You saw how that kind of thing worked on the Stallion!"

Shurgroe and Wyer stared at her for a moment.

"Well, if you two are really interested in each other..." Annerson sighed.

"It's n-n-not about us!" Shurgroe exclaimed, eyes wide, "He embarrassed himself in front of Major Dekaire! Completely! It was pathetic! But that's all we meant! Nothing about the two of us whatsoever!"

"Ah yes, throw me right under the tram then," Wyer sighed.

"I'm sorry, Wyer," Annerson said, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Well..."

"I am having THE WORST day," Simplot said, coming up to the table and dropping herself down into the last empty seat, "That was utterly humiliating!"

Wyer slumped back in his seat.

"Sounds like we're all having such a fun time," Annerson commented.

"Abela is just ecstatic that this research group is here, actually caring about her silly city," Simplot fumed, "She may have build the place, but I'M supposed to be the one in charge here!"

"You are in charge here," Annerson said.

"Not as far as Abela's concerned," Simplot fumed, "She's just putting up with me until she can convince Starfleet that she can run the place fine on her own,"

"It seems as though-" Wyer started.

"Josh, you've had to deal with the shipyard women. You know what I mean, right?" Simplot asked.

"Orders, please," A waitress had approached their table, glaring down at them.

"Just a beef dip sandwich, please don't hurt me," Shurgroe said quickly.

"Oh, Tai salad," said Simplot.

"Chicken breast," Annerson added, "Vegetables on the side,"

"I'm not quite ready yet," Wyer said.

The waitress crossed her arms and stared.

"Uh...uh...Wyer quickly scanned the menu, "A large...poutine?"

"If you say so, bub." The waitress left.

"What the hell is a poutine? Annerson asked.

"I don't know," Wyer said in a small voice, "I just...picked something."

They sat in silence for a moment. Shurgroe started gazing out the double-high windows and into the shipyard. The ship being worked on was starting to resemble a Federation Ambassador-class starship again. The Matrian shipbuilding bots had tore the thing apart, right down to the superstructure, and a series of industrial replicators had re-fabricated any components that had been found to be in need of replacement. Once the project was done, the shipyard would (hopefully) be capable of producing new ships.

"So what's on this afternoon's agenda?" Annerson asked, "I mean, I'll be sitting in my office all day doing absolutely nothing...I have to live vicariously through the rest of you,"

"Orbital calculations, if Abela has her way," Wyer said glumly.

"I'll be watching Abela bow and scrape to these MATRESS people," Simplot added, "At least you can keep me company."

"Meeting with Major Dekaire," Shurgroe said, "She wants to go over some of the plans for shipping non-replicatable parts in from Waystation,"

Wyer looked over at Shurgroe, swallowed, then looked down at the table as the waitress brought their plates over.

"What planet is that stuff from, Wyer?" Simplot asked, looking at his plate in disgust. It almost looked like French fries smothered in gravy and melted cheese, but nobody from Earth would be twisted enough to come up with that particular combination. Gravy, OK. But CHEESE? On French fries?

"I don't know," the Yynsian officer said, tentatively poking at the mess with his fork, "I wonder if it's safe to eat?"

Annerson pulled out her medical tricorder.

"As long as you're not lactose-intolerant, or suffering from high cholesterol you'll be fine," she concluded.

"You're my doctor. Shouldn't you know that about me?" Wyer asked.

"Well, I don't have your file memorized yet,"

"Oh," Wyer stabbed his food with his fork, stared for a moment, then finally took a bite.

They all stared at him.

"Excuse me," he gulped, jumped out of his chair and charging for the door.

Shurgroe nervously pushed Wyer's plate further away from his part of the table. Simplot, on the other hand, snagged a chunk of the 'poutine' with her fork and tried it.

"It's actually really good," she said, pushing away her salad and pulling Wyer's plate over instead, "Dunno what his problem is,"

"Alien taste buds, I guess," Shurgroe said, his stomach churning in disgust as Simplot dug in.

"Mph-huh," Simplot said through a mouthful of food.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

After spitting out the disgusting whatever-it-was, Wyer walked angrily down the corridors leading away from Shipyard 3. Sometimes it just felt like every day on this blasted station was getting worse. Sure, it had looked for one brief moment like he might have been able to tag along with Shurgroe and try talking to Major Dekaire without embarrassing himself, but then Simplot had to jump in and start talking about his food instead. Nobody was listening to him; that was the biggest part of the problem, he realized. Whether it was Abela and her stupid orbital calculations, or Simplot butting in at lunch, or Annerson just completely ignoring him, his biggest problem was his coworkers. And of course if he tried to mention anything about it, the little incident with his past-lives would no doubt be mentioned, and he REALLY didn't want to go there again.

He needed a little break, that was what he needed. Some time to himself. Boarding a tram, he rode around the Outer Rim to the vicinity of Shipyard 5. Stoneryder, despite being a true screw-up of an officer if he'd ever seen one, had given him one good idea: his own private play-pen. Unlike Stoneryder though, his private room was nothing more than an imaging chamber he'd found, probably meant to be used for analyzing starship designs or construction progresses. In addition to the various large screens, control panels, and the window looking into the shipyard itself, the room also had a small holographic generator. Tapping at the controls, Wyer stood back from the imaging platform as the shape of a slim, tall female materialized. She was fully clothed (clean up your minds, you perverts!) in a floor length blue gown.

"Good day, Wyer," she said pleasantly, "What would you like to do with me today?"

Wyer grunted. Holographic engineering wasn't very advanced on Matria Prime, not when their cortical induction machines could link users to virtual words...but that technology had been destroyed due to its danger. Still, this simple hologram met his needs.

"Salsa," he said, "I'm in a bad mood,"

"Please select song," the hologram said, a listing appearing in the air next to her.

Pulling up a salsa track (Yynsian, not human) he took the hologram in his arms and started to dance. Holographic footsteps appeared on the floor, though he barely needed them at this point. An outline of the woman's body appeared anytime he failed to lead her in the appropriate movement, but again he hardly needed it. His coworkers would never believe him to be an accomplished dancer, especially considering that most of his past-lives were terrorists. But hey, a guy had to have his secrets, right?

And at least the stress was flowing away. For now.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Later that day, Simplot found herself standing in Ops, bored. Abela had politely indicated that her presence wasn't necessary and despite her irritation, she took the opportunity to escape the dull scientists. Leaning back against the railing on the second level, she was using one of the big screens to zoom in on different parts of the city. At the moment, she'd zoomed in on a small park complete with water fountain, nestled between two office towers. She'd managed to find the control system for the fountain, and she was amusing herself by turning it off (right hip bump) and back on again (left hip bump).

"Were those MATRESS people really at your home digging into an old outpost?" she asked Lieutenant Franches.

BUMP! Fountain off.

"Yes, ma'am," Franches said, "They were there for about a month. Of course, the submarines are gone now, but there were records and technology that the government wanted,"

BUMP! Fountain on.

"I thought Haven had all of that," BUMP!

"Yes ma'am, but Haven dates from before the war. That outpost was built during it. Plus, it's less vulnerable than the city,"

BUMP!

"Hmmm. I wonder why Abela didn't have Stoneryder put a security team on those people,"

"She asked me to handle it, ma'am," Franches said.

BUMP!

"Simplot to Stoneryder," Simplot tapped her badge. BUMP!

"Um, yes ma'am?" Stoneryder sounded a bit out of breath.

"Go connect with Lt. Franches' security team and make sure we know what those MATRESS people are doing at all times!" Simplot ordered.

"Uh, I'm already 'connecting' with somebody at the moment,"

BUMP! BUMP!

"I don't CARE what you're doing, that was an order!" she snapped, "I swear, if this place had site-to-site beaming, I'd beam you straight here, I wouldn't care WHAT you were doing!"

"Um...yes ma'am,"

"Simplot out!" BUMP!

"We're probably going to have to whip him again," Simplot groaned.

"I beg your pardon?" Franches asked.

"Nevermind," BUMP!

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Interesting!" Dr. Volergal said, "And all of the stations are equipped with gesture-recognition?

She was in a good mood, that much was apparent to Abela. In fact, she was almost dancing on the spot. Whatever these MATRESS people were before they turned to research (and damn Simplot for putting that acronym in her head) she'd bet they'd known how to party. They'd been going about their tasks for almost two days now with seemingly inexhaustible, bubbly energy. It was almost infuriating actually. Stepping out of the way as one of Volergal's helpers walked/cha-cha'd by, she returned her attention to the question at hand.

"No, most of the control systems use the standard touch interface," Abela said, "But it came down to either putting control panels in front of all the big display screens, using voice-recognition or having people carry around little portable remote controllers. The design committee decided to use gestures and voice,"

"I wish we could talk to some of those people," Volergal said, "Oh, the secrets that must be buried in this place! Even from you!"

"I...well," Abela was taken aback, "I suppose I wasn't privy to the full city design. I had a lot to manage, after all,"

"And a lovely job you did, too," Volergal said. She gestured around the stellar cartography lab they'd found in the Department of Research and Knowledge (DoRK) tower. She watched one of her team as they tapped away at one of the computer stations. They gave her the slightest of nods, unseen by Abela. Smiling, Volergal turned back to the colonel, "But my people have just about finished their preliminary examination of the Command Tower...we'd love a closer look at the Command Complex.

A tiny warning bell went off in Abela's head, but she quickly pushed it aside.

"Of course," she nodded, "Shall we say 1500h?"

"Perfect," Volergal practically bobbed with excitement.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Shortly before the appointed time, Abela stepped out of the Command Complex/Ops turbolift and stepped quickly up the stairs to the command deck.

"You, you and you, get out," she said, pointing to Wyer and a pair of Matrian technicians.

"Hey, what's up?" Simplot asked, turning from where she was staring at an enlarged image of a strangely shaped tree, its branches covered in snow.

"I'm giving the research team a tour of Ops...I mean, the Command Complex," Abela gave Simplot a dirty look, "And I'd rather it wasn't too crowded."

Simplot frowned.

"Uh, Colonel, I really think we should have a security team up here if you're going to have strange civilians in Ops," she said, "And besides, this place is huge. You could fit the whole crew in here. Well, the skeleton crew we have now, anyway,"

"Franches' team will be here," Abela waved away her concern, "And all these people have had background checks. I'm really not concerned,"

"Yes, but-"

"Are you about to tell me that Starfleet ships are taken over or sabotaged by unarmed civilians all the time?" Abela raised an eyebrow.

"Well...no," Simplot hesitated, "But y'know...once in a while,"

Abela turned back to Wyer and the two techs.

"Out!" she repeated.

With another dark look in her direction, Wyer descended towards the turbolift.

"You know," Simplot said, "If his terrorist past-lives pop out again, you're going to be the first person he blows up,"

"Hmph," Abela snorted.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"If Akakkat or Krebbot decide to make another appearance, she is the first person to be blown up," Wyer muttered to himself as he rode the lift down the Command Tower, "Computer, where is Lt. Shurgroe?"

No answer.

Right. He was still working on getting the computer's voice interface fully up and running.

"D-DoDO to D-DoS," he called, tapping his comm-badge, "Where are you?"

"I t-t-thought you were just going to call me Josh from now on?" Shurgroe's voice came back.

"That was before Dr. Annerson implied that we were starting a love affair,"

A brief pause.

"We're not," Shurgroe said, "You're not my type,"

"Nor you mine,"

"They why...forget it. Why are you calling me?"

"Because I just got kicked out of Ops so Abela can showcase the place for her little band of groupies,"

"Look, why don't you just-"

The comm-link suddenly went dead, seconds before the lift ground to a stop.

Standing there in the dim emergency lighting, Wyer just sighed.

"Look at the craftsmanship!" Volergal was saying, running a scanner over the marbled stone panels on one of the Ops staircases, "Modern Matrian ships and stations are quite utilitarian. Was this sort of design the standard before the war?"

"Well, not quite," Abela said proudly, "Haven was meant to showcase Matrian culture to visiting races. A great deal of care was put into making sure that places like the Command Complex were suitable for entertaining guests,"

"Hmph," Simplot grunted, sitting at the holo-table.

"And who are you again, dear?" Volergal asked Simplot.

"Oh, nobody. Never mind me!" Simplot grumbled.

"This is just so exciting!" Volergal tittered again. Several of her team were spaced around the second level, looking at the big display screens.

"So you said," Simplot muttered to herself.

"This is an historic occasion, girls?" Volergal tossed off her academic robe, revealing a form-fitting bodysuit beneath, "This calls for a dance!"

One of her team produced a music player while the rest similarly disrobed. A slow beat began to play, one which all the researchers began to move to. It was evidently something they'd done before, as all their motions were identical.

Simplot had to admit, she was curious. One didn't usually see a team of stuffy science-types break into dance. Ah, just one of the many interesting differences in Matrian culture. The beat had begun to speed up, and the researches were moving faster to the music. The dance had started off with long, exaggerated gestures, but now the bodies of the researches were twisting to the faster music.

Wait a minute...the dancer nearest her hand just done an odd sort of hand-jive that seemed weirdly familiar...where had she seen that hand movement before?

"Ohh, isn't this great!" Abela gushed next to Simplot, clapping her hands. One of the dancers, distracted for a second, missed a step. The screen next to her flashed a brief warning, but she banished it from view with a quick hip bump. The rest of the dancers continued, either not noticing or...

Realization suddenly dawned on Simplot.

"We have to stop them!" she cried.

"Oh, don't be such a bore," Abela shook her head.

Simplot stared for a moment.

"Coming from you? Miss Oh-So-Proper?" she snapped, "You've got a dance troop doing the Hand Jive in the middle of Ops! Shouldn't you be bitching about how unprofessional this is?"

Volergal's arms were a blur as she writhed to the beat, the big grin never leaving her face.

"Given the respect they've been showing for Old Matrian design and tradition, I think i can give them a little leeway," Abela said, "Now shush! I want to see the show!"

"But they're-"

As the music reached its climax, all the researches drew their arms toward their chests, fists clenched, then thrust their elbows back. It was another gesture Simplot recognized...one that Abela had taught her a mere two days ago. It was the gesture that told the computers to execute a command sequence.

"Override code accepted," the voice of the city computer intoned, "Initiating command code transfer and security lock down,"

The main lighting in Ops shut down, leaving Simplot and Abela standing in the dim light from the emergency systems and the control panels...at least until the control panels also shut down. The researches sprung into motion, disarming the security team in seconds.

Abela's jaw dropped.

"I hate being right," Simplot groaned.

"And I love it when things go according to plan," Volergal said, smiling darkly.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

All around the city the skeleton crew looked up (or walked into suddenly sealed doors) in surprise as the city entered its lock-down mode. Blast doors slid into place, sealing off entire sections. The tram system shut down, the trams themselves returning to their maintenance bays as the surface tracks powered down and the underground tunnel system sealed itself off. The few buildings that been opened up re-sealed themselves, security doors sliding into place over the more ornate entryways. The illumination system in the dome supports, essential to maintaining a day-night cycle when the Matrian star was on the other side of the planet, went dark, putting the city into a sort of twilight lit only by the stars and a pair of nearby moons. The hanger doors sealed themselves, and the shipyards practically rang with the sound of closing security doors. In Shipyard 3, the Silverado Reconstruction Team abruptly found themselves cut off from the rest of the city literally instead of just figuratively.

Still standing in the dark turbolift, Wyer sighed again.

"Wyer to Shurgroe," he tapped his comm-badge.

No anwer. He pulled off the badge and made a minor adjustment, setting it to transmit on its standard Starfleet frequency instead of interfacing with the city's communications system.

"Wyer to Shurgroe," he tried again.

"Shurgroe here. Hey, how did you get the-"

"Never mind. Do you have any idea why we lost power?"

Shurgroe tapped away for a moment.

"Um...the computer here just says it's been locked down. Security system, maybe?"

Wyer thought back to what he knew about the city's security systems.

"When Haven was discovered, the city had been locked down for nearly two centuries," he said, frowning, "By Colonel Abela. She had left some systems such as communications and one of the tram routes open, both for her own uses and in the hope that the city would be rediscovered after the war ended. "

"No, this is a total lockdown," Shurgroe said, "I'm in the DoS tower right now...I don't see anything out my window. Tram tracks, buildings...everything is dead," he thought for a moment, "How did they unlock the city the last time?"

"Colonel Abela had programmed a sophisticated behavioural-analysis program that determined who would make proper use of the city," Wyer explained, "It could only be accessed from Ops."

"Don't think that will work this time," Shurgroe said.

"No. I think we need Abela," Wyer said, "I need to get out of this turbolift, find the stairs up to Ops and find out what`s going on,"

"L-luckily we have something the last group didn`t," Shurgroe said, "One second,"

Wyer was about to start prying at the turbolift doors when he suddenly dissolved in a shower of transporter sparks, finding himself standing next to Shurgroe in the runabout Cataraquai.

"Almost forgot we had this thing," Wyer admitted.

"Now I'll just beam Simplot and Abela over and...wait a minute," Shurgroe stared at the sensor display, "Why are there so many Matrian life-signs up there?"

"Abela was showing her new friends Ops," Wyer sighed, "That's why she sent me...oh dear. This lockdown isn't an accident, is it..."

Shurgroe pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Persephone preserve us," he muttered, "They've taken over the city. This is like basic Academy training all over again,"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"I told you there were secrets even you didn't know about this place," Volergal said cheerfully, stepping up the stairs to the command deck. She approached the holo-table, then ran one hand over the security recognition sensors on the underside. A glowing holographic hand print appeared, hovering over the edge of the table. Volergal pressed her hand against it, elicting an electronic sound, almost like a gong. The table flashed green, then displayed a city status readout. The remainder of Ops remained dim.

"How did you DO that?" Abela demanded angrily. She was about to make a move against the other women, but several of the researchers had bounded up the stairs to restrain Abela and Simplot.

"Well, I was doing some poking around in the databases in the Quatrios Island outpost, and I came across some very interesting dossiers," Volergal, "Guess what I found out?"

"The master override sequence for the city?" Simplot asked. She turned to Abela, "Why would you people put that somewhere a common science-type could find it? For that matter, why do you even HAVE one? And WHY didn't you TELL ME about it?"

Abela was quiet.

"Because she didn't know about it," Volergal said. She started tapping at the unlocked panel, presumable to begin taking control of city functions, "And it wasn't just kicking around in the files for anybody to find. Unless of course, that person happened to be the head of Matrian Intelligence."

"Admiral Maskota put you up to this?" Abela's eyes flashed.

"Who?" Simplot wondered.

"The head of Matrian Intelligence!" Abela snapped.

"No, no," now Volergal looked absolutely smug, "But, you know, we forgot so much about ourselves during the century or so we were in hibernation. For instance, do you know who the head of Matrian Intelligence was at the end of the war?"

"I was in stasis!" Abela grunted.

"It was Admiral...Volergal!"

"Really? Congratulations!" Simplot said pleasantly.

"I barely remember a thing about it," Volergal shrugged, "But a little digging here, a little poking around there, and I managed to locate a few private files I'd apparently tucked away. Of course, Haven had been lost and forgotten at that point. But I still apparently had access to certain code sequences that were part of every Matrian system when it was constructed. Or so I found at the Quatrios outpost."

"Enough trivia," Abela cut her off, "What do you want?"

"I'm a former spymaster," Volergal gave a smile that creeped the hell right out of Simplot, "I'm sure I could find a use for a giant, armed space station!"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Ohhh, this is bad," Shurgroe gulped, pacing back and forth in the runabout, "Two of us versus an entire troop of Matrian scientists?"

"How many other officers have problems like us, I wonder," Wyer mused.

"I imagine t-t-they usually have s-s-security people that deal with things like this," Shurgroe said. He sighed, then pulled a small hypospray out of his pocket.

"I hate this stuff, but I guess this really isn't the time to be twitchy," he said, injecting himself with medication.

"Hey, we have security staff," Wyer snapped his fingers. He went over to the console and started tapping away, "Hmmm...no lifesigns in Civil Protection HQ,"

"Abela had them keeping an eye on the research team,"

"Fat lot of good that did," Wyer frowned, "There is a life sign in the security office in Atrium 1. Presumable, our Chief of Security. Or the D-DoPES, as the Matrians like to call him."

"Oh, I don't want to deal with him," Shurgroe whined, "he's...icky. And he wasn't any use whatsoever when the Atlantis AI went rogue,"

"He's still the Chief of Security...or the D-DoPES, whichever you prefer."

"Ok, fine," Shurgroe sighed, "Beam the dope over here, then."

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Lieutenant Harrison Stoneryder, known in some circles as the adult performer Steele Stoneryder, was reclining comfortably behind his desk in the Atrium 1 Security Office. Outside the glass doors leading into his office he could see the dimly lit, incomplete emptiness of the big mall complex. Abela and Simplot had insisted that he setup shop here, but since there were no actual businesses open at this point, his life had turned into a dull routine of reading the news, watching pornography and sneaking off to the gym to work out. So he was slightly surprised when he dematerialized from his perch atop his comfy seat and reappeared suspended in mid-air above a runabout transporter pad.

"YEOWITCH!" he cried as his backside struck the unyielding transporter pad.

"There," a voice said, "We've got him. Happy now?"

"What the-" Stoneryder jumped to his feet and stalked towards Wyer and Shurgroe. The two smaller officers, for all their talk against him, had apparently forgotten that he was taller, broader and far more muscular than either one of them.

"Eep!" Shurgroe yipped, cowering behind Wyer.

"The city has been taken over by cheerful archaeologists, the captain is in their hands, and we need somebody with security expertise," Wyer said calmly.

"Franches and the CPT are handling that," Stoneryder said, turning back to the transporter pad, "Now send me back to my office,"

"Aren't you going to...I dunno," Shurgroe wondered, "Rally the troops? Go in with phasers blasting?"

"Can't imagine why I would," Stoneryder shrugged. He shuddered as he remembered the last time he tried leading the troops and the resulting force-field burns.

Wyer cocked his head.

"Why are you here, then?' he asked.

"What?" Stoneryder paused.

"Why are you here?" Wyer repeated, "You don't seem interested in your duties. You don't seem interested in the Matrians. And yet you're a Starfleet lieutenant, which presumably means you put in a great deal of work at the Academy to get here."

Stoneryder just glared at him for a moment.

"Plenty of time at the gym," he growled, flexing one arm menacingly, "Now send me back!"

"No. We need somebody with security skills to take care of this problem." Wyer said firmly, trying not to think about the way his head would pop off if Stoneryder flexed like that with Wyer's neck in a headlock.

Stalemate.

"You know, if those Matrian people take the city and toss us all in the brig, it'll be hard for you to get gym time," Shurgroe piped up, "And the brig cells here don't have pull-up bars,"

Wyer rolled his eyes, but Stoneryder seemed to consider this.

"And they'll probably whip all of us," Shurgroe added.

Shivering from the recollection of his last punishment session with Colonel Abela, Stoneryder stepped over to one of the unoccupied panels.

"First," he said, "we're going to secure an airlock and interrogate the guards. Then we're going to move up to the bridge and make sure the people in charge are cuffed, blindfolded and...wait," he frowned, "No, that's the plot to 'Sex Assault 3: Rocket Power',"

"Eww," Shurgroe muttered.

"I know, right? That's why I turned that flick down," Stoneryder shook his head, "What kind of stupid storyline is that, anyway? That, and they wanted me to use cherry body paint to simulate blood, and I can never get that stuff out of my chest hair,"

Stoneryder tapped the panel, activitating the transporter and beaming Simplot to the runabout.

"Anti-Hijacking Lesson One," he said, ignoring the look of disgust of Wyer's face and the thoughtful expression on Shurgroe's, "Don't let them keep your captain,"

"What the..." Simplot looked around for a moment, then stalked over to Stoneryder and smacked him upside the head, "You dunderhead! She was just about to explain the whole thing!"

"Maybe we should have worked harder to find Franches," Shurgroe commented.

"Absolute moron!" Simplot was going on, still wailing (ineffectively) at Stoneryder, "did you even CHECK on Franches and his people when they were guarding those Matrians? Read a report? Wonder at why they were poking into our computers?"

"They poked into our computers?" Wyer asked.

"Apparently! Because they found some super-secret override code that let them take over the whole place!"

"Lesson Two," Stoneryder added, barely noticing Simplot's fury, "The bigger the place the more people it needs. They're probably beaming up hoards of helpers right now,"

"OK, fine, first priority, we need to get the shields up so that can't happen!" Simplot said, throwing one last slap in Stoneryder's direction.

There was a dull clanging as something hammered against the runabouts hatch.

"First priority, we get the hell out of here," Stoneryder amended.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"We're having trouble getting into the secured levels, Doctor...Admiral...whatever," one of Volergal's minionrs reported, "Our people out in the Outer Rim will begin beaming up followers with those transporters...once they find them. They're a bit...lost,"

"By the Mother," Volergal rolled her eyes.

"What do you want?" Abela demanded.

"What do you think?" Volergal whirled on her, her cheer apparently a bit dampened, "I want control over the most powerful object in Matrian Space. Is that really so hard to comprehend that both you AND that Starfleeter can't just figure it out on your own? Now leave me alone, I have scheming to do! See, first I plan to-"

Simplot abruptly dissolved in transporter sparks.

"What...WHERE DID SHE GO?" Volergal demanded.

The research/infiltration team looked around.

"Well, none of us has sensor access," one of them said timidly.

Grumbling, Volergal tapped at the panel.

"There's an alien ship in Hanger 3," she said, "Tris, Bet, get out there and arrest those Starfleet people. Ret, find a transporter room and start bringing up the rest of our followers," she turned to Abela, "We have a lot of work to do, after all,"

Abela found herself pushed roughly into a chair next to an inactive control pulpit.

"You're going to use Haven against our own people," she accused quietly, "What is it you want? Male regression again? Control over the planet? Did your preferred Governess not get re-elected?"

"Don't be an idiot," Volergal replied, "We both know the real future of this sector is what the other races can offer our people,"

"Right, that's turned out wonderfully so far," Abela muttered.

"Our people were once a driving force in this part of space," Volergal went on, "We did it because we were driven, hard-working and clever. We will do so again. And whoever controls Haven controls Matria Prime's gateway to the galaxy,"

"Getting poetic never solved anything," Abela retorted.

"Y'know, I could just have you sent back to the planet instead of listening to your prattle," Volergal said.

"By all means, beam me to the planet," Abela agreed. So I can scheme until this city is back under MY control, she added silently!

"Why, so you can scheme until the city is back under your control? I think not. But I just wanted you to know that I could."

Bitch, Abela fumed.

"Don't worry," Volergal said, "Once we have secured control of the city, I'm sure it'll only take a few phaser shots at Matronus before the Queen and Council decide to let me keep control of it."

"This is a city, not a battle-station," Abela said, "You couldn't handle a concentrated attack, even if you had a few hundred followers who knew the city. And it can't go anywhere! How are you going to conquer the quadrant with a stationary object?"

Volergal shook her head.

"I may have forgotten a lot about when I was Matria's Spymaster," she said, "But I still have certain…mental processes. You might call them instincts. And those instincts are telling me that you don't become a major power through pure force. Look how well that's working for the Qu'Eh that tried conquering Matria Prime," she paced along the command deck, "No, you need to be able to analyze your neighbours, learn how they think. Determine who in their government is most friendly to your cause, then see if you can influence events that put them in power. I know what's down below the Command Tower…I know about the Signal Intelligence facility, and the other information gathering and processing facilities Matrian Intelligence built into Haven. I'm very confident that a facility like this is exactly what I need,"

Crap, Abela mused. Yup, Volergal was definitely crazy. But maybe, in some twisted way, brilliant. This woman definitely could not be allowed to control Haven.

But what could she do about it?

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Y'know, we're pretty lucky the Old Matrians...or the New Matrians for that matter, never got site-to-site beaming figured out," Simplot observed as Stoneryder and Shurgroe programmed the transporter.

"Technically, this isn't a site-to-site transport," Shurgroe pointed out, "We're beaming from a pad to-"

CLANG! Another impact to the hatch.

"R-right," Shurgroe muttered, "Less chatter, more grey matter!"

"I'm beaming us into one of the passages under the lake," Stoneryder said, "The actual classified levels are transporter-shielded."

"How are we going to get in?" Simplot wondered.

"With our security clearances," Stoneyder said, the unspoken 'ah-DUHHHH' hanging in the air.

"But Abela said I couldn't go down there!" Simplot whined, "You mean I could have gone any time?"

"Well, any time after your security profile was entered into the Matrian Planetary Defence HQ computer system," Stoneryder replied, "The security databases are inter-connected,"

"Ohh, that lying BITCH!"

"That's how I got in during my...incident," Wyer said helpfully.

"Why don't you get your head up into your own-"

Simplot's reply was lost as Stoneryder activated the transporter, sending them all back to Haven's central section.

"My own what?" Wyer asked after they rematerialized.

"I don't know," Simplot admitted, "I timed that with the transporter noise so I wouldn't have to actually think of something to say."

"Captain, you and I should try to find whatever passes for Auxiliary Control down here. Shurgroe, Wyer, you two need to find Haven's shield generators and get the shields up before we have more bad-guys showing up," Stoneryder said, tossing them each a phaser he'd taken from the runabout.

"You're certainly large and in charge all of a sudden," Simplot observed.

"Let's just wrap this up so I can get back to the gym," Stoneryder said, taking a moment to check out his own ass in a reflective surface, "My glutes need more work,"

"Before we all go running around, maybe you'd like to consider that some of us have actually been spending the last couple of months studying Haven's schematics," Wyer commented.

"H-hey, yeah!" Shurgroe agreed, "We know...stuff!"

Stoneryder gave them an exasperated look.

"You guys hauled me out of my office to plan this little security thing, so why don't you just shut up and let me plan?"

"But-"

"Just go figure out how to get the shields up, OK?" Stoneryder said, taking Simplot by the arm and taking her down a corridor.

Shurgroe and Wyer watched them go as Stoneryder stopped to swipe a hand against a security reader and then darted into the cold, steel-paneled classified sections.

"You read the Silverado report on the city, right?" Wyer asked Shurgroe.

"Y-yeah," Shurgroe nodded, "Signal Analysis control center? And the sensor-jamming field?"

"My thinking exactly," Wyer nodded.

They turned and started walking in a completely different direction than the one Simplot and Stoneryder had taken.

"When will the in-charge types learn to shut up and listen to the engineers?" Wyer wondered aloud.

Haven is big. I mean, really big. When you consider that the city itself consists of many dozens of towers, you know it's big. Add to that several dozen levels in the Outer Rim, a thick ring over three kilometres in diameter, along with many more levels of habitable space in the supporting disc under the city and under the central island of Downtown and you come up with a plenty of space to stash pretty much anything you could possibly want.

The high-security levels took up much of the space below the Transit Hub, right down to the conduits feeding from the energy transceiver planted in the center of the city's lower surface like a prickly bulls-eye. The Matrian government had had many plans for the city as it was being constructed, and being privy to the top-secret project had given Matrian Intelligence just a bit of an unfair advantage when it came to adding their own...interests to the city.

Signal Analysis was a large chamber, even bigger than the Command Complex, buried deep under street level. Designed for analyzing information coming from across the Matrian Empire, it had huge display screens, banks of analysis computers and all the support facilities Intelligence would need to run a tidy but sophisticated operation. It was also the closest thing to a backup command center that the city had. The interference-generating stealth system, on the other hand, had been the first major system installed in the city, as a means of keeping the construction site hidden. The original plan had actually called for the stealth generators to be dismantled and the space used for other purposes after the city was launched, since hiding a three-kilometer domed disc from sensors was pretty pointless when the naked eye could pick easily, but nobody had really had time to consider that point.

"So, how do we get past the override to turn on the sensor jammer thing?" Shurgroe asked.

"This part of the city should be less affected by the lockout," Wyer said, "That's the way it was when it was discovered. Just try turning it on,"

Shurgroe punched at a few controls, then shook his head.

"Nothing,"

"Wyer to Simplot,"

"Do you guys have the shields up yet? They're going to have reinforcements any minute now!" Simplot's voice came over the line.

"And a pleasant day to you as well, Captain," Wyer replied, "We actually decided the sensor jamming system would work best, as it is easier to access and blocks transporters,"

"Great, go turn it on," Stoneryder's voice came over the comm, "We're trying to find a command center, buzz off!"

"We're in a command center," Wyer said flatly, "But we can't activate the field from here."

"You guys were heading right for one of the generators when you left us, though," Shurgroe said helpfully.

"They why didn't you tell us...ugh...engineers," Simplot sighed, "Fine. Shurgroe, walk us through this. Wyer, figure out how to get control of the city back!"

"I know how to get control back," a voice said behind them.

Wyer and Shurgroe spun around to see Major Dekaire, the blond-haired Matrian shipbuilder standing in the entrance to the large room, a smoking phaser rifle held up casually against one shoulder.

"But I don't think any of you are going to like it," she finished. She paused. "Actually, I'm just saying that to be dramatic. Hopefully one of you will like it, a lot. Otherwise we're sort of screwed."

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Doctor Volergal, we've managed to penetrate the Starfleet craft," a peon reported over a comm channel, "But the Starfleeters are gone. Their transporter was used to beam four people into Downtown Haven, but the records seem to have been scrambled somewhat,"

"Why didn't we detect that?" Volergal demanded, turning to one of the researchers seated nearby.

"Um...I wasn't looking for transporter traces?"

"Ugh," Volergal shook her head, "This is what happens when you use people who haven't fought a real war in over a century!"

"Yes," Abela said, "Too bad the patriots that fought the Qu'Eh are too loyal to take part in your little schemes,"

"Don't start with me!" Volergal fumed, "Volergal to Team Three! Transporter status!"

"We found the general-access transporter complex between Shipyards Six and Seven," a voice reported, "We're ready to begin beaming now,"

There was the sound of buttons being pressed, then a transporter chime, followed by what sounded like a shower of sparks, a small explosion and several screams. And vomiting.

"OH GOD!" somebody shouted over the line, "TURN IT OFF! TURN IT OFF!"

"Somebody's activated the city's interference field!" one of the researchers reported, "Transporters are offline!"

"I knew we should have gotten shuttles too!" Volergal's second-in-command muttered.

"Worst hijackers ever," Abela groaned, "I'm honestly feeling a little ashamed to be the same species as you right now,"

Volergal's good cheer was definitely packing it in for the day.

"Kill the aliens," she snapped.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"That should do it," Shurgroe said, watching the display on his tricorder break into gibberish as the city's interference field scrambled its functions, "Anything not directly tied into city systems is now offline. We're still visible to the naked eye but mostly invisible to sensors, and transporters should read us as an invalid target and prevent beaming. Y'know, unless a transport was in progress when the field went up,"

"What would happen then?" Simplot asked over the comm.

"Um...don't think about that. Or ask about that. And definitely don't picture it. By Mii Clane, you don't want to do that!" Wyer interjected, "What are the odds of that happening anyway?"

"We're on our way back," Simplot reported, "Any luck with Dekaire's plan?"

They looked over to where Dekaire was accessing the security footage from the Command Complex.

"Yes," she said, "but we're lucky that Mr. Wyer's D-DoDO access can still get at security footage. Even a lockdown doesn't block some requests,"

"Um, yes," Wyer said, looking nervously over at her, swallowing, then holding a padd he'd found strategically over his groin, "Am I doing this right?" he asked Shurgroe, "Is it some Matrian custom?"

"It's f-f-for hiding y-y-your...this isn't the time!' Shurgroe said, "besides, you only need it when you're...umm...feeling exited."

Wyer shifted his eyes in Shurgroe's direction, then towards Dekaire. Then towards the large screen displaying the footage from Ops right before they lost control of the city. One of Volergal's research was doing a move that looked vaguely like the old 'Mashed Potato'.

"I see," he said, carefully setting the padd down. He accidentally brushed against Dekaire's arm, blushing and pulling his hand back, "S-sorry," he gulped.

"Have we got it?" Simplot asked, stepping into Signal Analysis. She stopped, then started looking around. Her attention was drawn towards a glass wall dividing the main chamber from a separate conference room, complete with beverage service built into one wall, "Why couldn't they give Ops something like that? Why do we have to ride the lift down two levels to have a meeting!?"

"We have it," Dekaire said.

"Have what?" Shurgroe asked

"The code sequence used to lock the city," Simplot said.

"I thought we were watching a dance contest," Shurgroe said.

"Volergal said the code was hard-wired into the city, for whatever reason," Simplot said, "That means she can't have changed it. If we use the same code, we can transfer control of the city down here,"

"And then use the anti-intruder system to eliminate them?" Wyer asked.

"Well, the Matrians have an anesthazine system installed same as Starfleet ships and stations," Stoneryder said, "But the gas has an expiry date. And it expired around the same time our great-grandfathers were getting their first big-boy hairs,"

"You are SUCH a pervert," Simplot said, giving Stoneryder a look of disdain.

"Baby," he cooed, "One night with me and you'll love how perverted I am,"

One sore fist (Simplot) and one black eye (Stoneryder) later, the conversation continued.

"Once we have control of communications, we can call up our own help from the planet," Dekaire said.

"Would have been nice if they'd figured out on their own that something was wrong," Simplot mused, rubbing her fist.

"Are you ready? Dekaire asked.

"Yeah," Simplot sighed, "Look, just nobody record this. It's going to be embarrassing."

"I was afraid you weren't going to like this plan," the blond Matrian major said.

"It's not that I don't like it," Simplot grunted, "It's just...I'm really not much of a dancer, OK?"

"Ok, stand over here by the console...yes." Dekaire looked at her notes, "Now, start with the standard interface activation...good. Now, you need to get a lateral, rhythmic motion going with your hips, starting at 60 beats per minute, that will initialize the code,"

"I feel ridiculous," Simplot sighed.

"Y-y-you look pretty ridiculous," Shurgroe offered, "Sort of hot, but very ridiculous,"

Simplot gave him the finger, resulting in a curse from Dekaire and the need to start the process all over again.

Wyer watched Simplot as she attempted the code, suddenly understanding why Volergal and her people had buried the override sequence in a dance. It would have been obvious something was up if they'd just started making gestures at the computer system, true. But there was a flow to the code, to the body movements it entailed that just worked more efficiently with a rhythm. And it was clear that Simplot wasn't getting that. Her movements were slow, clunky and lacked grace. She'd probably get it eventually, but if it came down to a competition between her and Volergal, Wyer knew she'd be in trouble.

After about ten minutes of slow, laborious gesturing, there was a chime, a computerized voice, then all the lights went out. Wyer let out a breath of relief, glad he wouldn't have to reveal his own, private talents.

"OK, now we just have to find a security template like the holo-table upstairs, then we can take control of the city," Dekaire said.

"Easier said then done," Simplot said, "And I swear to God, Stoneryder, if you try anything in the dark I'm going to neuter you!"

"I'd never try anything," Harrison snapped, silently pulling his pants back up, "What kind of guy do you think I am, anyway?"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"What the," Volergal exclaimed as Ops went dark, "Did we lose power?"

"Somebody entered the override code!" her second-in-command called as the computer voice announced that the command codes were once again being transferred.

"Tris, dance," Volergal snapped.

Abela watched silently as one of the hijackers went through the same dance as before, though somewhat faster. The second she finished, Volergal slammed her hand down on the holo-table, regaining control of the city.

"Nice try," she chuckled, "Cend, how many places in the city would accept that override code?"

"The Command Complex and Signal Analysis," Cend replied.

"Get our people to Signal Analysis and kill the Starfleeters before they try that again!"

Abela, no longer a major concern, shifted slightly in her seat, turning towards the holo-table.

"Oh, here it is," Simplot said. She'd waved her hand over an odd-looking interface built into one of the walls and saw a holographic palm template appear. Pressing her hand against it caused the nearest panel to come to life.

"I have access," she said.

"Override Code Accepted," said the computer. There was another chime, then the panel went dark again.

"I don't have access?" she frowned.

"Too slow," Dekaire said, "Somebody in Ops must have re-entered the code. Do you remember the routine? We need to enter the whole sequence again,"

With a sigh, Simplot moved back to the gesture-recognition system, only to find Wyer already there. He didn't want to do this...he figured his crewmates would start asking awkward questions...but at this point he really couldn't see any alternatives.

"Let me," he said. He turned to Dekaire, "Can you give me some music? Preferably something fast,"

"Sure," Dekaire said slowly. She brought up a Matrian dance track.

Wyer jumped into the recognition area, one arm up in the standard initialization gesture. As the bass started, he starting moving his hips almost the same way Simplot had, though less rigid and robotic. More of a Soul Train kinda move, this time. He turned, his left arm starting a twirl that accessed the security control systems, while his head started bobbing in a motion that was completely useless to the code entry, but good for helping him look cool (he thought). Around him, jaws dropped as his body writhed, seemingly random kicks and arm thrusts corresponding to the gesture code that had to be entered.

"You have GOT to be kidding me," Stoneryder said dryly.

"Maybe it's a past-life thing?" Shurgroe wondered.

"If it is, I like it better than the terrorist past lives," Simplot shrugged.

"Get ready!" he called, arms coming together across his chest as he prepared to give the execute command.

Blinking, Simplot ran back to the panel, slamming her hand down just as Wyer thrust back his elbows and the computer intoned "Override Code Accepted".

"Unlock everything!" Dekaire shouted.

"I know, I know!" Simplot said, tapping at the panel and transferring control functions to Signal Analysis.

"We've got Matrian life-signs coming down the corridor," Stoneryder said, tapping at a panel the second it came to life "Sealing the doors!"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Up in Ops, Tris was dancing away again.

"Override Code Accepted,"

"See if you can unseal the doors from up there!" one of Volergal's team called over the comm.** /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Down in Signal Analysis, Wyer was starting to sweat.

"Override Code Accepted,"

"I almost got a message out last time," Shurgroe said, "If it got saved in 'Drafts', I should be able to...n-nope, gotta start again,"

THUMP!

"Open up, in the name of the Matronus Restoration Society!" somebody called.

"No!' Shurgroe shouted, his fingers running over the panel.

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"NO!"

A brief pause.

"You're not nice!"

"And PMS is still a week away," Simplot muttered.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Override Code Accepted,"

"Maybe Gini should take the next one," Tres panted, sweat stains forming on her shirt.

"Whatever, just get those aliens!" Volergal snapped.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"OK, I'm n-not even going to bother writing an explanation in the next message, I'm just going to type HELP and send it to every military destination I can!" Shurgroe said angrily as Wyer danced yet again, "That'll show those mean girls that I mean business!"

"Override Code Accepted,"

"Did anybody bring a bottle of water?" Wyer asked, wiping sweat off his forehead.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Override Code Accepted,"

This time, instead of sitting passively by, Abela charged at the holo-table, slamming her own hand down on a recognition template before Volergal had the chance. She barely had five seconds to try entering a command before a phaser beam splashed against her back. Eyes fluttering and blackness closing in, she hit the 'Execute' button.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Initiating emergency system restart," the voice of the computer announced throughout the city, "Computer functions will be unavailable for twenty-three point five minutes. All city systems reverting to manual control. Have a pleasant day,"

"What the f**k?" Stoneryder asked.

"The interference field is down," Shurgroe said, looking at his tricorder.

"So's the security system!" Stoneryder said. There was a groan as the doors to the chamber slowly started to open, probing Matrian fingers prying between the thick panels.

"Josh, did your message get out?" Simplot demanded.

"I think so, I don't know!" Shurgroe wailed.

A phaser blast shot in from between the door panels. Stoneryder returned fire, forcing the probing hand to pull back. Another phaser blast came through, this time Simplot and Wyer joined Shurgroe in returning fire.

There was the sound of running from the corridor, followed by many phaser discharges. After a moment of silence, a voice came through the opening.

"Captain Veath, Matrian Planetary Security," a hard, female voice called, "Are you having a bit of a problem in there?"

"That depends on whether or not you just stunned all the bad guys," Simplot said calmly.

"We did,"

"Well then, we're just peachy. How are you?"

"Uh...good. Thanks,"

"Glad to hear it,"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Station Log, Stardate 59401.2

"Huh. I guess the Matrians really do care about this place. Shurgroe screwed up the typing and send 'HELF' instead of 'HELP', but they got the message anyway. As soon as the interference field went down, Matrian HQ had troops beaming into Ops, all six shipyards and the nearest unshielded access point to the classified decks. Volergal and her team were rounded up and taken into custody, and we're restored the city the full functionality. Steady as she...well, whatever cities do."

"Colonel Abela and Mr. Shurgroe are planning on changing or removing that override code as soon as possible, assuming they can figure out how it was wired into the system. In the meantime, we've taken the gesture recognition system temporarily offline,"

"So, all's well that ends well,"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"I can't believe you lied to me about getting into the classified levels!" Simplot said accusingly as Abela sat across the conference table from her, "I've been asking about that place for weeks!"

"You're an alien!" Abela countered, "If this was a Starfleet station, would you let me into the top-secret areas?"

"Your government already gave me access!" Simplot snapped, "You had no business going against them!"

"I didn't go against them," Abela shrugged, "I just...took my time passing on the information."

They glared at each other for a moment.

"Your people performed...acceptably," Abela finally admitted, "Although they never would have succeeded without Major Dekaire."

"They never would have succeeded without Mr. Wyer either," Simplot countered. She sighed, "But you did shut down the computer and end that whole stalemate. But still! Wyer!"

"Who would have thought," Abela said, "Under that still, proper, DULL exterior is a man of rhythm."

"Well, I hope this at least proved he isn't as incompetent as you thought," Simplot said hopefully.

"Hmph," Abela replied.

"By the way, why were all those clean-up crews out in the Outer Rim?"

"Don't ask," Abela shudded, "Let's just say that some of those crooks got a little more than they deserved!"

Simplto stared at her.

"So what happened? C'mon, tell me!"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Save the city, and what thanks do I get? Go work on the lakebed, Wyer!" Wyer muttered angrily to himself. He was in an access tunnel under the lakebed, checking the integrity of a seam that had been stressed by the explosion many weeks ago. The layer of sand and silt at the bottom of the lake had absorbed much of the shock, but there was still some work to do.

"Mr. Wyer?"

Wyer turned awkwardly in the tunnel to find Major Dekaire approaching.

"Ma'am," he gulped, going through his toolkit until he found a padd suitable for strategic placement, "What can I do for you?"

"I think the question," she said, pulling the padd out of his unresisting fingers and tossing it over one shoulder" is what can we do for each other,"

And with that, she pounced on him.

As uniform parts were tossed around the tunnel like confetti, Wyer couldn't help but think that maybe life on the city wasn't all that bad after all.


	8. 8 - Trade (Part One)

Star Traks: Halfway to Haven 1.8 – "Trade – Part 1"

* * *

"And that's that," Dr. Strobnick said, nodding with satisfaction as he leaned back from the navigation panel in the Roadrunner's cramped bridge.

"That's…what exactly?" Lt. Laarthi asked. Technically, she was the Roadrunner's Chief Engineer. Practically, she was a Starfleet Intelligence agent. She was OK with engineering problems, but it was really something better suited to the drones down in SI R&D.

"Dr. Strobnick has corrected the unit conversion problem in the quantum slipstream drive," Lt. Mytim said softly, her voice carefully controlled to convey dignity yet deference. It was the practiced voice of one who felt she was the equal or superior of the people she was addressing, but who wanted to avoid ruffling any feathers. Or fur, in Laarthi's case. For that matter, she also wanted to be sure that her anger didn't actually manifest itself by setting Laarthi's fur on fire.

"It was surprisingly easy," Strobnick said, not noticing the careful manner with which Mytim addressed him, "Undergraduates can be so careless. But I'm still surprised even they could make such a simple mistake such as this,"

"If it was in fact a mistake," Laarthi murmered. They'd already discovered one piece of sabotage aboard the experimental ship. Who was to say this wasn't another?

"Hopefully my colleagues back in Federation space were able to find this little error without my assistance," Strobnick mused.

Mytim mentally composed half a dozen different replies, none of which she felt she could deliver without a smirk or a dose of sarcasm. Instead, she returned to her station and began examining her left cheek in a reflective surface. If that small bump turned into a full-blown pimple, there was going to be hell to pay!

"I'm sure they'll be fine," Laarthi said flatly, "But how does this help us?"

"Well…since using the slipstream drive is too dangerous to risk, I suppose it doesn't," Strobnick shrugged, "But really, my dear, academia doesn't have to be useful to be interesting!"

"I'll be in engineering," Laarthi said, turning to leave

It was the only reply she was confident she could give without resorting to profanity.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Starbase 341, Haven. Matrian Solar System:

Lieutenant Wyer pressed the door chime then waited politely outside of Captain Simplot's ready room. A small office just off the second level of the Command Complex, the ready room had been claimed by Simplot after she'd learned that her actual office was several floors down in the Command Tower. Colonel Abela had claimed an identical office directly opposite Simplot's, leaving two more up for grabs. Wyer, for his part, had no interest in having a workspace right in the city's brain...in fact, he planned on moving all of his work out to the Department of Dome Operations tower as soon as he could.

Simplot was taking unusually long to answer her door. The door was unlocked, so Wyer let himself in.

Simplot was crouched over her small desk, a series of cylindrical containers arranged on the surface. One of them was emitting steam, evidently a kettle. Another held dark powder, a third was empty while a smaller pair held what appeared to be cream and sugar.

"Chemistry?" he inquired.

"Coffee," Simplot replied, "I swear, if I don't get a decent cup I'm going to kill somebody. Possibly you. Nothing personal, you're just the nearest available corpse. But I feel like I'm back in the Dark Ages, using this crap!"

"I see," Wyer wasn't sure how to respond, "We do have replicators, of course, and I know we've added many Federation recipes to the database,"

"If replicators did the trick, people wouldn't get all excited about visiting planets, starbases, or other places that have actual coffee," Simplot said. She measured the ground coffee into the largest container, added boiling water, the placed the top on the container.

"Now, in theory, I let it sit. Then I'll have coffee," she said, not sounding very confident. "Oh, did you want something?"

"Queen Anselia has requested a communication in fifteen minutes," he said.

"Does Abela know?"

"No, the message was sent to you," Wyer replied.

"See? At least SOMEBODY understands how the chain of command is supposed to work here!" Simplot said, still staring at the coffee botum.

"Lt. Stoneryder would also like me to remind you that as we don't have a civilian population, having him sit in the security office all day is a pointless waste of workout time,"

Simplot shook her head.

"Tell him to go through Abela. She's my first officer, there's no reason why you should deal with crap like that," she said.

"I think he's afraid of her, still," Wyer replied.

"Good." Simplot poured half a cup of coffee, added cream and sugar, sipped, then made a disgusted grimace. Grainy coffee grounds swirled in the cup.

"This is like drinking mud," she said, spitting the ground-filled coffee back into the mug, "This stupid machine doesn't work. I swear, if I don't get decent coffee soon, I WILL kill you!"

She turned and stepped towards the door to Ops, barely missing Shurgroe as he entered.

"Do I smell real coffee?" he asked eagerly.

"Have at it," Simplot said, disgusted, as she exited the tiny office. Shrugging at Shurgroe, Wyer followed.

Shurgroe observed the array of equipment on the desk. After a moment's thought, he pressed the plunger on the French Press, forcing the coffee grounds to the bottom. He poured a cup and took a sip.

"Tastes fine to me," he shrugged.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"So, any idea what Her Royal Highness wants to talk about?" Simplot asked Abela as she climbed the stairs into the Command Deck. As usual, Abela's reddish hair was carefully braided behind her head, her reddish-blueish-purplish Matrian Defence Fatigues impeccably groomed.

"If it has anything to do with a request to rename the North Suburb 'Humantown', then I quit," Abela replied.

"Fissett, send Anselia a message asking to rename-" Simplot started.

"Forget it, I'm not quitting!" Abela cut her off.

"I don't know, that sounded like a firm commitment," Simplot smiled, "And how would Queen Anselia feel if she knew one of her senior officers was breaking her word?"

"Queen Anselia can-"

"Can what?"

Biting her lip, Abela cursed herself and turned to face the active holo-table on which the image of Anselia was projected. Of course Simplot would time their little argument with the start of the communication!

"Can certainly express any opinions she wishes, as befits a Matrian of her stature," Abela said tightly.

"Charming," Anselia said, her mouth curling slightly, "Do you make a beeping noise when you back up like that?"

"What can we do for you, your highness?" Abela swallowed, embarrassed.

"Captain Simplot, are you familiar with the Waystation Project?" Anselia asked, her holographic image turning to face Simplot.

"Uh, they built a big dumbbell-shaped space station at the edge of Federation space," Simplot said, thinking back to the logs she'd been reading, "At least it used to be the edge of Federation space. Now the station is a hub for people travelling through the surrounding sectors,"

"Travel between the Matrian Republic and the Federation goes through Waystation," Abela said, her memory jogged, "Senous as well,"

"It's the nearest outpost to this sector, other than Starbase 341," Simplot finished.

"You mean Haven," Abela corrected her.

"Whatever," Simplot shrugged

"The important point," Anselia said as Abela shot Simplot her usual glare, "is that the Waystation Project was successful. In fact, they're expanding. A Starfleet team will be visiting Senous and Matria Prime to scout potential sites for the new station, Waystation-2,"

"Really?" Simplot grinned, "They must be expecting some heavy traffic!"

"Aside from Matria Prime and Senous there are dozens of sentient races in the vicinity," Abela said, "Back in my day, the Matrian Empire itself had over a dozen colonies!"

"And, of course, there are indications of undiscovered sentient races between us and the current Waystation," Anselia continued, "After all, the exploration route taken to Matrian Space by Starfleet was a bit more...direct...then usual,"

"We can't become Waystation-2," Simplot suddenly frowned, "Then we'd have to memorize ANOTHER name for this place, and print up whole new brochures!"

"Marketing aside," Anselia said, "The Council has made an application for the Waystation-2 designation. The review team will be arriving in two days aboard the…what was it?" she reviewed a padd, "The USS Hummingbird. Another one of those silly experimental ships,"

"Let's hope they got the bugs out of this one," Simplot mused.

"In any case, the Council expects that you will show the review team a good time," Anselia went on, "Show them that Haven is a vital hub for commerce and travel in the sector,"

"But…it isn't!" Abela gaped, "The Council hasn't even let us start moving businesses or citizens aboard yet!"

"You have one active shipyard,"

"That we don't even control, thanks to you!"

Anselia sighed. She fished around her desk, muttering to herself. Finally, she found a padd and pressed her thumb to the approval tab.

"There. I've approved one shift of workers for Shipyard 1, along with an order of defence satellites and the necessary staff and civilians needed to support both shipyards. Congratulations." Abela folder he hands in front of her, "But as for the rest, your own your own. Starfleet says they specialize in being creative, so be creative!"

With that, the holo-image vanished.

"So," Simplot said slowly, "We have two days to make this place seem like a vital metropolis?"

Abela had turned to look over the railing and down into the city. With the exception of a few lights in the closer towers, it was dark and deserted. Snow whipped through the empty streets and only a single tram was moving between Downtown and the Outer Rim; the rest of the antigravity tracks were powered down. She could almost imagine seeing tumbleweeds blowing in the breeze, or would have if she'd been from Earth.

"Yes," she said dryly, "Thoughts?"

"How about a keggar?" Simplot suggested.

Abela chuckled. It wasn't a particularly happy sound.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"So, let me see if I understand this," Lt. Boxer said, scratching his ear, "The fast drive is working now, but we still can't use it? That chews peanut butter!"

"I could explain it," Mytim said coolly, "But then I'd have to explain again when Lt. Cmdr Virgii arrives." Despite her tone, she was thrilled at the current scientific puzzle. She'd spent more than enough time recently trying to deal with puzzles of a more mystical nature, so puzzling over something that could be measured and quantified was a welcome change.

They, along with Laarthi and Strobnick, were seated in the Roadrunner's small conference room. The table dominated the room and was pushed up against a long bench-seat that ran along the outer wall. The seat was comfortable enough, but unfortunately it led to those lovely situations where if one person sitting near the middle wanted out, almost EVERYBODY had to get up.

"Sorry I'm late," Virgii said, stepping into the room.

"Hiya Captain!" Boxer said happily, nearly jumping from his seat, "How are you? I'm glad you're back!"

"Dogs," Laarthi sighed, "Always SO happy when the boss comes home,"

"Good day, Lieutenant," Virgii said, giving Boxer an odd look. He took a seat in one of the actual chair-style chairs on the inner side of the table. "Report, please,"

"The QS drive is fully repaired," Dr. Strobnick said immediately.

"Yes, and if we could use it, I'd be thrilled," Virgii snorted, "Lt. Laarthi, the consumables report?"

"We might be able to use the QS drive," Mytim interrupted, folding her hands carefully in front of her.

"I thought," Laarthi said, "That since we can't compensate for variances in the slipstream it's too dangerous to use the drive to get back home,"

"It is," Strobnick took over, "But Lt. Mytim has been analyzing our sensor data from the trip out. It's not enough for use to safely reverse course, but it does offer an interesting possibility,"

"Here," Mytim tapped the table. Since the room was too small for a viewscreen, the tabletop itself had to be used as a display surface. A star chart appeared, showing the Roadrunner's starting point, end point, and a wavy line connecting the two.

"Shouldn't that be a straight line?" Boxer asked.

"Hyper-dimensional geometry is…tricky," Mytim said, "In any event, we can't reverse course. However, I've pinpointed some regions that seem to have less variance than the norm. We may be able to use the drive to traverse these regions at very low slipstream speeds, while crossing the rest with conventional warp drive,"

Now everybody was giving Mytim their full attention.

"How much time could this cut off our travel time?" Virgii demanded.

"Anywhere from one to five years," Mytim replied.

"Then we're doing it," he replied firmly.

"There's a drawback," Laarthi interrupted.

Everybody looked at her.

"But you didn't even know about this plan until two minutes ago!" Boxer objected.

"I can think," Laarthi shot back.

"And what's the problem?" Virgii asked.

"We're talking about traversing great distances and landing right in the middle of unexplored territory," Laarthi said, "Not once, but many times! We know that the Aerostar encountered the Flarn on one such trip! We were lucky our own jump landed us in peaceful territory!"

"Except for that moon we crashed into," Mytim pointed out.

"We'll be crossing unexplored territory regardless of what speed we're going," Strobnick waved aside Laarthi's concern.

"With long range sensors sweeps," Laarthi refused to be shut down, "And with information we get from friendly races like the Wuyans! Thanks to them, we had star charts and species dossiers that lasted us nearly a month! If we use the slipstream drive, we could land in the middle of a war!"

Both she and Strobnick looked expectantly at Virgii.

Virgii swallowed. It was decision-making time. He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it. After his recent experiences with the Wuyan, he'd come to appreciate the fact that some decisions had to be made carefully. On the other hand, he couldn't stand a commander who just waffled around. But the ship was in peaceful space, on course and with plenty of supplies. He could afford a bit of time.

"You'll have my decision by tomorrow," he said.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"The transport Queen of Matria is requesting permission to dock," reported one of the Matrian crewmen.

"Send them to Docking Bay 12," Abela said, barely looking over from where she hovered behind Fissett and Wyer, "Are you two finished yet?"

"That depends," Wyer said calmly, "Can you talk to the computer yet?"

"Shouldn't you be wearing your crash helmet?" Abela asked him sharply, "I'd hate for you to bump your head and start channelling a serial killer or something!"

Wyer didn't reply, instead turning back to his console.

"He's very sorry about that," Fissett explained helpfully. Abela just rolled her eyes.

"Madam," she said, firmly addressing the computer "I want a status report of all vehicular maintenance sub-systems in Docking Bay 12,"

Nothing.

"No," Abela replied to Wyer, "I can't talk to it yet,"

"Then no, we're not finished yet," Wyer replied.

"You. Can't. Be. Serious." Simplot cut in, looking at Abela in horror.

"What?" Abela rolled her eyes again, "They were supposed to have that computer personality installed weeks ago! We have a review board to impress, dammit!"

"Not that," Simplot shook her head, "The computer. You can't call it 'Madam'!"

"Of course I can," Abela waved Simplot aside, "it's Matrian tradition. Or it was. And I'm making sure it is again!"

"But-"

"But nothing. I'm not changing names for you, and that's final. Now, how about we have our liason officer go down and greet our new residents?"

"We don't have-" Simplot tried.

"MDHQ has permitted the approved of several leases in Atrium 1," Abela was moving down the stairs to the turbolifts now, "I'll be meeting the first few merchants there shortly. I'm sure you can manage things without me,"

She left.

Simplot was starting to turn red.

"MMMPPPHHHZZZZZTTTT!" she squeaked.

"Just let it all out," Wyer said soothingly.

"WE DON'T HAVE A LIASON OFFICER TO GREET THE SHIPBUILDERS, AND THERE'S NOBODY AT THE DOCKING BAY TO TELL THE MERCHANTS WHICH WAY TO THE ATRIUM, SO YOU'RE NOT ACTUALLY MEETING ANYBODY AND YOU CAN'T CALL THE COMPUTER 'MADAM' BECAUSE THAT MAKES THIS PLACE SOUND SO…SO…WHORE-HOUSEY!"

Simplot took several deep breaths.

"Better now?" Wyer asked, oblivious of the looks of horror coming from the Matrian staff.

"No," Simplot grunted. She pointed at a random crewman. "You. You're today's liason officer. Go down to Bay 12 and…liason. And somebody tell Josh that his new shipyard minions are here,"

With that, she stormed down to the second level and into her ready room.

The Matrian man she'd pointed at was staring after her in horror.

"Don't you have someplace to be?" Wyer asked mildly.

The Matrian looked at the Yynsian, perhaps remembering his reign of terror several weeks ago, then bolted for the exit.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

While the officers aboard Haven were figuring out how to deal with their new residents, Lt. Cmdr. Virgii was seated at the tiny desk in his cramped quarters aboard the Road Runner. He'd been there for nearly two hours now, locked in silent contemplation.

At least, that's what he'd wanted his crew to think.

He'd spent the first hour or so trying pace in the tiny cabin. That hadn't gone well, so he'd sat in his chair…then on his bunk…then he'd laid down. And got up. And paced some more.

What the heck was he supposed to do?

Laarthi was right. If they started making jumps of several hundred light years, there was no telling what kind of space they'd land in. A jump all the way back to Federation space would have been different…but that wasn't happening without tearing the ship apart. But how could he ignore the chance of cutting years off their trip?

That line of thinking had led to Plan B: Sit in his chair until somebody came in to make his decision easier. It always happened to all the best crews, after all. The captain would sit, muse and maybe listen to music. And then the first officer would walk in, drop some nugget of wisdom and the whole thing would be solved in a minute or two.

Virgii faced the door and waited.

Hmm. Who was his first officer, anyway?

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"There is no way we can have this shipyard running in two days,"

Lt. Shurgroe gulped as he was confronted by a 6'5, 230lb Matrian woman. She was solid muscle from head to toe, no doubt about it. She was also a very clear reminder that Matrian society was matriarchal…and why.

"B-But Q-Q-Q-Queen Anselia said-"

"Queen Anselia," the woman spat, "Is a politician. She doesn't understand what it's like to build something! To see a ship taking form beneath your hands! To feel that first pulse from his reactors…that first shimmer of energy from his nacelles!"

"Um,"

"Look, just don't worry your pretty little face about it," she said, giving him a condescending pat on the head, "We'll be up and running as soon as possible. But why don't you scram…a shipyard is no place for a little guy like you,"

"But-"

"Juli, Fresta, get him out of here."

"Sure thing, boss,"

Two more burly women grabbed Shurgroe by the arms and started pulling him out of the main control deck for Shipyard 1.

"See ya, toots," one of them said, giving Shurgroe's butt a firm tap just before the doors closed.

Shurgroe stood there for a moment.

"What the heck just happened?" he muttered, "And why does it keep happening to ME?"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

The next morning, Simplot was slowly climbing the stairs from the passageway between her apartment building and the Transit Hub when she came across Shurgroe, sitting halfway up the steps.

"Morning, Josh," she said, "Too tired to get to the top?"

"Well, no," he said. Truth be told, Abela had given him a Traveller, a device that automatically found the best transit routes for him, and even allowed him to take turbolifts anywhere in the city in an emergency.

"I swear," Simplot said as Shurgroe started following her up the stairs, "By the end of this posting, I'm going to have the most spectacular ass in the fleet!"

"I talked to some of our new shipbuilders yesterday," Shurgroe said.

"Oh yeah? How are they? Did that poor Matrian I shafted get them settled?"

"They're settling in," Shurgroe said, "Most of them wanted quarters in the Rim, close to work. But I think one or two are going to apply for units in the suburbs,"

"Then they can talk to the real estate office. What's the problem?" Simplot shrugged.

"Um…my male parts, actually," Shurgroe said, embarrassed.

Simplot frowned.

"Shouldn't that kind of thing go to Dr. Annerson?"

"No, I mean…those Matrian woman are female chauvinist pigs!" Shurgoe exclaimed, "They kicked me right out! Said a shipyard was 'no place for a pretty little thing like me'!"

"That's two shipyards you've been kicked out of now, Josh," Simplot said, "Not a good record for the Director of Shipbuilding,"

"I know! But look at the mess I caused getting the women in Shipyard 3 to take me seriously" Shurgroe almost wailed, "I can't do that again! I j-j-j-just don't know what to do about it!"

"Well, I would suggest…wait a minute…do you smell that?" Simplot's eyes suddenly started darting back and forth. They'd reached the second level of the Transit Hub. Another level up was the crossover bridge to the inner hub and the Command Tower lobby, but straight ahead of them were the open double-doors that led into Atrium 1. Simplot charged ahead, leaving Shurgroe struggling to keep up.

The Atrium was largely unchanged; an egg-shaped space over five levels high, with storefronts lining the inner walls. Out towards the city, the entire outer wall of the egg consisted of windows. The Atriums had been largely ignored due to the fact that they were completely deserted. Or at least they used to be.

Several storefronts were now under construction. Shurgroe could see a Matrian clothing store, two restaurants and some sort of crafts store already taking shape, along with the newly opened 24th Century Realty office. Simplot had made a bee-line straight for a café that was apparently already open for business.

"Oh thank God," she said, sniffing a cup of Matrian coffee and thumbing the payment pad, "Now we just need a Dillon's Supply Depot, a Beanus Coffee Hut, and maybe a Romulus Republic."

"That was fast," Shurgroe frowned, "I thought Abela just approved these places yesterday?"

"We have a review board to convince, Josh," Simplot said, "Time is money! Speaking of which, don't you have a shipyard to handle?"

With that, she turned back towards the Transit Hub, leaving Josh standing near the railing.

He looked out at the open Atrium. The bustle of merchants setting up shop only filled a small section of one level of the open structure, the tapping of their tools echoing in the vast space.

"Yeah, we're really going to convince them," he muttered.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Good morning, crew," Virgii said confidently, striding the two paces from the bridge entrance to his command chair.

"Hiya!" Boxer said happily, wagging his tail, "Hi-hi-hi!"

Laarthi hissed at him.

Mytim turned from the science console.

"I've plotted out a preliminary course, based on the areas of below-average quantum variance,"

"Lieutenant, who said we were using your plan?" Virgii asked reproachfully.

"Lt. Laarthi heard you flipping the coin in your quarters late last night," Mytim replied.

"What? But…how could she hear that?"

"I was unsure, up until you cried 'that's it, 8 out of 15 and not one more'!" Laarthi replied.

"I see," Virgii gulped. That's it: his sex life was officially dead as long as Laarthi was his neighbour. "Then yes, prepare the quantum slipstream drive. Lt. Mytim, what is our first jump?"

"Our first jump will take us three hundred light years on a bearing of 340 mark 2," Dr. Strobnick cut in.

"That cuts what…five months off our trip?" Virgii asked.

"Less. We're not going in a straight line,"

"Oh," Virgii swallowed, "When can we activate the drive?"

"Anytime now," Mytim said, before Strobnick could answer.

"Then let's do this,"

"Oh boy!" Boxer said happily, "We're going on a trip!"

Virgii closed his eyes and gripped his arm rests.

"Very well then," he said tightly.

There was a growing hum as the Roadrunner's experimental drive powered up. Outside the ship the sleek warp nacelles went dark as drive plasma was redirected to the ring nacelle, which glowed to life. As the quantum core powered up there was a brief twisting of light directly ahead of the small ship, the suggestion of a dent, as though the light were actually drilling into space itself. Then the Roadrunner stretched and vanished.

Virgii cracked open one eye, somewhat surprised to see the swirling blue and black tunnel of slipstream drive outside the bridge windows instead of the afterlife.

"Slipstream drive is at 10%," Mytim reported, "Attempting to compensate for variance,"

The ship shook, almost hard enough to throw Virgii out of his seat.

"Is that supposed to be happening?" Boxer asked nervously.

"This is why we're not supposed to use the drive like this," Laarthi replied. Her tone was confident, but Boxer could see the claw marks she was making in her console.

The ride smoothened out for a few minutes. A few became several, then nearly twenty. A few minor bumps here and there kept everybody on their toes. Then Strobnick's navigation panel started beeping.

"I think we're coming up on a subspace fibre bundle," he said, worried, "Reduce drive power to five percent until we're past it,"

"Doesn't the slipstream collapse rather spectacularly at 4.8%?" Virgii asked, worried.

"That's still a 0.2 margin of error," Strobnick waved him away, then looked thoughtful, "of course, if you combine the error of the instruments with the irregularities of the drive itself, then yes I suppose there is some risk,"

"Goody,"

Virgii didn't have the chance to say anything more before the ship hit the fibre bundle, spinning out of control. He was vaguely aware of Strobnick shouting 'No, turn INTO the skid', right before the spinning tunnel collapsed into the darkness of normal space.

"Shutdown successful," Mytim said, visibly working to calm herself, "The slipstream was collapsing," she looked at her readouts, "But we're a quarter of the way through that jump anyway."

"Boxer, anything?"

"Hmm? Oh!" Boxer had nearly forgotten that he was the guard dog, so to speak. It was his job to watch out for threats! He quickly consulted the scanners.

"Nothing. We're in interstellar space,"

"Good," Virgii pried his fingers out of the arm-rests, "Then we can afford to take a day or two to recover before we try that again.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Station Log, Supplemental:

"OK, yes, I realize that two days is pushing it for a supplementary log entry, but I'm busy! We're all busy!"

"Thanks to Colonel Abela's efforts, we now have a total of six businesses up and running in Atrium 1. Which, by the way needs a better name. Yes, dammit Abela, I draw the line at the shopping mall! IT MUST BE NAMED!"

"Anyway, even though I can at least get some good coffee in the morning, the Atrium is nowhere near the bustling hub we need for our little demonstration to the Waystation selection board. We have a couple of other plans, but we just don't have time to set them in motion!"

"Shurgroe has now been kicked out of both functioning shipyards. I say 'functioning' lightly, as the new shift for Shipyard 1 is still…what was it…'confirming that the workplace meets union requirements'. I really think he's going to have to grow a pair…or maybe in the case of the Matrians retract a pair is better. Anyway, he needs to do something about a pair before he'll be able to deal with those women."

"And to top it all off, the review board is due in ten minutes!"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"We're screwed," Abela signed, sitting in the nearest chair in the Ops command deck, "Haven is loaded with potential…but I doubt the board is going to care about that,"

"Don't worry, Myress," Simplot said, trying to be reassuring, "Look at the competition! Senous is the only other planet on the route, and they don't have anything to offer."

"Limitless sex," Ensign Kesser spoke up from the tactical panel…or the pulpit that was currently serving as a tactical panel.

"Bodies that could be carved from marble," Fissett added, her voice turning dreamy.

"Yeah, I guess…and I don't know about Matria, but on Earth sleeping with the judges is a time-honoured way of winning contests," Simplot grunted, her expression turning glum.

"So…we can get the Waystation designation if we sleep with the judges?" Abela looked intrigued.

"I doubt your husband would like that idea,"

"Anything in the line of duty," Abela's lips tightened.

"Not that it matters," Wyer spoke up from the biosphere control console, "I've read the reports on Senous. If we're down to that kind of competition between us and them, there's no way we'll win,"

"You," Abela said darkly, "Are really getting on my bad side,"

"I'm not trying to be offensive-"

"But I'm still offended!"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Thousands of light-years away…

"You're sure it's going to work right this time?" Virgii asked, drumming his fingers on the command chair armrest.

"With a 96% certainly, 14 times out of 15," Dr. Strobnick assured him.

"Then why can I see through your arm?"

Strobnick swallowed then quickly reigned in his camouflage abilities.

"I've made a few minor modifications to the slipstream drive," he said defensively, "It was meant to operate at higher power levels in a stabilized slipstream, not the way we're using it now. Because this way has a greater chance of killing us!"

"Yak, yak, yak," Laarthi cut in, "Honestly, Captain, I have no clue what he did. He made some adjustments to the core and told me not to 'worry my little community-college head over it'."

Virgii sighed. But the choice had already been made. Time to go.

"Very well," he said, "Let's give this another try."

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Hummingbird is due in one minute," Kesser reported.

"Hey," Wyer sat up in his seat, "Did we ever send Starfleet the updated scans of the Matrian system?"

"I don't know," Simplot shrugged, "Who's our science officer? Did we assign one after what's her name went missing? Mytim?"

Fissett shyly raised her hand.

"Me," she said, "And no, why would I?"

"Because we used a very big energy beam generator to mess with the quantum fabric of space near Matria VI," Wyer said, his eyes growing wide.

"WHAT?" Abela demanded, "You messed with our quantum…space…fabric? You didn't say anything about that!"

"Because the only people who would notice would be people travelling in a quantum slipstream!" Wyer exclaimed, "And I can count the number of known QS vessels in the galaxy on one hand!"

"Uh oh," Simplot gulped.

"Sensors! Show us their arrival point" Abela ordered, "Get us a visual!"

The holo-table came to life with a 3D representation of the space around Matria Prime. Near the small disk of Haven there was a tiny flash of light. The view zoomed in, just in time to catch a glimpse of a warping of space, the barest hint of a tunnel. Then a ship emerged sporting an elongated saucer and a pair of sleek twin nacelles, just now coming to life as the ring-nacelle surrounding the aft section of the ship went dark. Then there was a second flash of light; this one blue. The ship seemed to waver, faded, then abruptly solidified. It shot forward, right towards the city.

"That was…weird," Fissett said. Wyer came over to join her.

"Well, there was some weird distortion on the sensors," he said, "But everything seems OK."

"They why are they COMING RIGHT AT US?" Fissett cried as the Hummingbird soared towards the city dome.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

One minute, Mytim was activating the slipstream drive. The next, the Roadrunner was plunging towards certain doom.

"PULL UP! PULL UP!" Virgii cried.

"AHHH!" Boxer shouted.

Mytim wrestled with the helm controls, trying to pull the Roadrunner up and away from the giant monstrosity that had appeared in their path. She pulled the ship halfway though a barrel roll then yanked the ship to port. Virgii caught a glimpse of what looked like a giant, shaken 'Snowy Village' snow globe before the view out the windows was replaced with stars.

"Bollocks!" he shouted, turning to Strobnick, "What just happened!"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Hail them!" Abela snarled, "They nearly hit us! What idiot is driving that thing?"

"Starbase Haven to USS Hummingbird," Kesser started speaking into the comm, "Come in, Hummingbird. Respond, please…or the cranky lady over here is going to get mean!"

He listened for a moment while Abela gave him a dark look. After a moment, Simplot joined her.

"No response," he said.

"Open channel," Simplot ordered, "Starbase 341 to Hummigbird. I'm not the cranky lady, but I am the station commander. And your pilot has some explaining to do!"

The comm crackled.

"This is the USS Roadrunner," an officious-sounding British voice came back, "Captain Virgii commanding."

"Acting captain," corrected a voice in the background.

Abela and Simplot exchanged a look.

"Say again?" Abela demanded.

"We come in peace," the officious-sounding voice continued, "We're on a mission of exploration, viewing the local cultures and what-not. Kindly allow us to continue on our path and we'll be of no bother,"

"Roadrunner, check your maps," Abela said, still looking surprised, "You're in Matrian space,"

"Federation space," Simplot corrected.

"You can't rename things, Starfleeter!"

"I'm not renaming it, Matrian space is part of Federation space! It's, like, the vanilla ice cream of the great Federation banana split!"

"WHAT are you TALKING ABOUT?"

"We're…we're back?" Virgii sounded stunned, "Truly? Home?"

"You have arrived at Starbase Haven," Abela confirmed, beginning to tire of the repetition.

"Uh, but you guys are a little late," Simplot added, "Hey, how about some ice cream!"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

The bridge of the Roadrunner was quiet. Through the forward window they could see one of Haven's docking ports extending to receive them, a purplish tractor beam playing over their ship's hull.

"HORRAY!" Boxer said suddenly, scaring the hell out of everybody.

"What the hell?" Virgii finally asked Strobnick.

"Well, there are always numerous possibilities," Strobnick said quickly, "The universe is quite vast, and the number of-"

"He has no clue," Laarthi cut him off. She'd stood from her station and grabbed Boxer by the arm.

"Excuse us, Captain. We need to, uh, prepare for arrival," she said.

"We do?" Boxer cocked his hair, too confused to shake her off.

"We do," she replied firmly, pulling him off the bridge.

As they descended the cramped stairway to deck two, Boxer whispered to Laarthi.

"This isn't really about getting ready for arrival, is it?" he said conspiratorially.

"No," Laarthi hissed back, "It's about the fact that somebody sabotaged this ship weeks ago. Somebody who might have allies on Starbase 341! And now suddenly we're right at their doorstep!"

"But we blew the saboteur into space," Boxer objected, "Along with my favourite chew-toy!"

"I doubt he was working alone," Laarthi said.

"Virgii to Laarthi,"

"What?"

"Did your arrival preparations by chance including beaming something to the starbase?" Virgii asked.

Laarthi's eyes widened.

"Yes," she said, "yes. I, uh, had to beam some…uh…"

"Some of the materials we picked up at Wuyan for analysis," Boxer chimed in.

"Couldn't it have waited?"

"NO! Laarthi out!"

They exchanged a glance.

"So the saboteur is dead, huh?" Laarthi asked.

"Uh-oh," Boxer wimpered.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Within fifeteen minutes the Roadrunner's senior staff had been escorted from their Outer Rim docking port, through the transit system and to the central tower. Virgii looked curiously out the windows as the tram sped across one of the bridges, wondering just what sort of space station had snowstorms. Mytim and Strobnick however, were comparing sensor readings on a pair of padds, trying to figure out what had happened.

"Where's the rest of their staff?" Abela asked coolly once they arrived.

Lieutenant Franches and two of his team members had escorted Virgii, Mytim and Strobnick to the Command Tower Principle Conference. Mytim didn't seem to be taking note of their near nudity, but Virgii was careful to keep his distance.

"Well, my Chief Engineer and Chief of Security had to run off on some materials analysis," Virgii jumped in, before Franches could answer, "But really, we don't have much staff aboard the ship.

"About that," Simplot cut in, "what the heck happened to you guys?"

Virgii and Mytim quickly explained how the ship had been sent thousands of light-years off course and their plan to make short hops closer to home.

"But then we just appeared here," Virgii said, "like magic,"

Mytim sucked in a sudden breath.

"There is no such thing as magic!" she said harshly.

"There appears to have been some sort of unexpected quantum tunnelling effect," Dr. Strobnick said, "We entered a slipstream just as the Hummingbird was exiting one. Something created some kind of link between our ships, and our slipstream vectors were cross-imposed.

"That's, uh, just out of curiousity, not something we could have caused by the quantum disruption of shooting a big energy beam meant to knock a ship out of the slipstream, is it?" Lt. Wyer asked carefully.

"Perhaps," Strobnick shrugged, "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Wyer gulped.

"In any event," Simplot said, "Our liaison officer can set you up with temporary quarters near your ship until you can drop by Haven Estates or 24th Century Realty and start hunting for a good condo,"

"I beg your pardon?" Virgii asked.

"Condom?" Strobnick wondered, "Are we expected to have sex? Is this some Matrian custom?"

"No, condominium, not condom! It's an apartment that you have to pay a lot more money for," Simplot explained.

"Who's our liaison officer officer today?" Wyer asked.

"Just make Kesser do it," Simplot shrugged.

"Haven Estates?" Virgii and Mytim looked helplessly at each other.

"Don't let them talk you into something downtown right off the bat," Abela advised, "Some of the suburbs are quite lovely…though if you want a lot of space you'll have to settle for something in the Rim,"

"I say…" Virgii cocked his head.

"Oh, and winter is scheduled to end in another month," Simplot added, "So you might want to try for something near the lake. I think Lieutenant Stoneryder wants to get at least one of the beaches properly groomed."

"Do you like the snowfall today, by the way?" Wyer asked, "It took several hours to figure out how to induce a gentle snow rather than a blizzard,"

"Do let us know if you need any help moving," Abela said, abruptly losing interest and heading for the exit.

Virgii and Mytim just looked back at them.

"Moving?"

"Well, you are assigned here, after all," Simplot shrugged, "Better late than never,"

"But who wants to bet," Shurgroe broken, "that the Hummingbird is stuck near the galactic core right now?"

"That seams like a certainty," Strobnick nodded.

"Uh oh," Simplot said, "All those Admirals and performance analysis people...stranded years from home. That's probably going to hurt our review score,"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Meanwhile, thousands of light years away….

Admiral Thomas Wagner looked out the windows of the Hummingbird's bridge, scanning space around the small ship.

"Isn't there supposed to be a planet here?" he asked the officer seated in the command chair.

"Don't ask me," replied Commander Tifnay, "I'm a performance critic, not a deep space explorer."

"And we're sure that Metric thing was the only problem with the drive?"

"Positive. At least this ship didn't disappear during the test flight like that last one,"

"Unless…maybe we just did," Wagner shook his head.

"Oh." Tifnay swallowed, "Uh-oh,"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Back on Haven, Laarthi was leading Boxer on a mad rush through the maze of passageways and stairways that was Haven's Outer Rim.

"Laarthi, where are we going?" Boxer asked as the feline officer took a sharp right into some sort of cargo thoroughfare, "Couldn't we have at least found the liaison office and gotten a map?"

"Did you pay no attention to Construct Navigation during your training?" Laarthi spat, "I have the beam-in co-ordinates, I can get us there."

"Nice place," Boxer observed, "When I heard we were posted to an alien-built station, I was afraid we'd be in for something like Deep Space Nine,"

Laarthi had felt the exact same way, but there was no way she was telling him that.

They'd gone up several levels from the docking port and had moved a considerable distance clockwise around the city, so to speak. From what Laarthi could tell, they were in a residential section. They'd turned off the main corridors and found themselves navigating a large hexagon with calmer, more sombre colour tones than the red and blue of the rest of the station. Doorways were interspaced at regular intervals. Laarthi led them straight for one of them.

"Dead end," she said with satisfaction, "if we were quick on our feet, the culprit may even still be inside!"

"Maybe we should have brought weapons?" Boxer offered.

"Weapons…oh s**t," Laarthi muttered.

Boxer pondered their lack of offensive capabilities for a moment, then bared his teeth.

"Beh-er?" he offered.

Laarthi sighed, but extended her claws and hit the door release.

It was almost something from a comic book. A rather pathetic comic book, featuring Cat Girl and Dog Boy as they burst into a fairly non-descript apartment, teeth and manicured claws bared and ready for action. Any super-villian worth half his salt would have taken one look, patted them on the head and sent them on their way. As it was, the apartment was empty. One of the living room windows was open, letting in a burst of cold wind.

"Who turned down the heat?" Boxer asked, his fur fluffing up as he quickly secured the apartment.

Laarthi wasn't listening to him. She stood in front of the broad picture window, staring out at the scene before her. Boxer followed her gaze, seeing only a fairly standard if compact cityscape huddled under a layer of snow. The trees in a nearby park had glimmers of hoarfrost on their branches and the light from the planet above reflected off the white blanket of snow.

"Laarthi?"

Laarthi saw none of the snow. As her eyes passed over the city, she saw rooftop gardens, vines and tailings hanging over their edges. She saw grassy parks, with plenty of shady spots under brilliant green trees. She saw flowers of all conceivable shapes and colours flowing from carefully manicured flower beds and opportunities for all manner of landscaping.

"Laarthi?" Boxer tapped a promising-looking button next to the window. A clear panel slid across from one side, cutting off the cold wind. Laarthi shook herself as if awakening from a dream.

"Right. We're chasing somebody," she said.

"I think it's a little late," Boxer winced. Down below, at the base of the inner rim, he could see tracks in the snow leading into the nearest building. From there, the saboteur could have gone anywhere.

"Blast," Laarthi cursed.

"Now what?" Boxer asked.

"Now we start investigating, Mr. Chief of Security," Laarthi said angrily, stomping out of the apartment with a curious lack of her usual feline grace, "Make sure there aren't any departing ships he or she can get away on! Then we start searching this place!"

"Do we get to sleep first? It's been a long day,"

"NO!" Laarthi snapped.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"No, you can't have access to the departures log," Lieutenant Fissett said, "I'm sorry,"

"Why not?" Laarthi demanded. The two of them had gone straight to Haven's command center in their quest. Boxer was pacing around the lower level, staring out at the cityscape below while Laarthi had scampered right up to the command deck.

"Because there isn't one," Fissett explained, "We've had, like, zero traffic. Other than a couple of shipyards opening up, and all that came from Matria Prime anyway,"

"But you must have a shuttle service to the planet!"

"Sure, but we're in transporter range of the home-world anyway,"

"TRANSPORTER RANGE?" Laarthi choked, then immediately fought to calm herself. The saboteur could be anywhere on the planet by now! "May I see the transporter logs then?"

"I guess," Fissett set Laarthi up at a nearby control pulpit.

"Nothing," she muttered after a quick scan, "Where did you go, you little…"

"Laarthi, I'm tired," Boxer said, climbing up the stairs, "It's been a long day and about nine thousand light-years. I just want to sleep. We don't even know that the…" he looked over at Lieutenant Fissett, "that the material samples are going to do anything tonight," he finished.

"Fine," Laarthi said grudgingly, "But we're sleeping on the Roadrunner,"

Boxer's tail drooped.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Virgii wasn't sure what he'd been expecting when the Roadrunner returned to Federation space (under his leadership, of course), but it sure wasn't the 'Wham, Bam, Thank You Acting Captain' routine that he'd received at Starbase 341. Simplot had dismissed him and his 'staff' from the briefing, only to summon him back fifteen minutes later to talk to Admiral Janeway. He'd thought that she, a fellow 'dislocatee', would understand his valiant bravery and effort in getting his crew home in a matter of months, but she'd simply demanded a dump of the Roadrunner's computer logs then signed off rather abruptly. (That her ego might have been a little burned by the fact that her crew had been MIA for seven years didn't enter Virgii's mind.)

Now he found himself sitting in a small lounge next to the Roadrunner's docking port. Haven's docking ports were tucked into the underside of the inner edge of the Outer Rim, underneath the broad disc that supported the city proper. It made sense in a fashion, considering the traffic generated Spaceside by the docking bays and the shipyards. But the view absolutely sucked. Blank hull dominated the view out the window, stretching off to some sort of beam emitter over a kilometre away. Heavy supports ran from the Rim to the center of the city. He could see open space and a wedge of planet if he got close to the window and looked down, but he was trying to brood and such a posture wasn't conducive to decent brooding.

The door behind him hissed open, then closed. Virgii looked around, but didn't see anybody. Inferior Matrian design, no doubt.

He turned back to the view outside. If he looked to his left and down he could see the Roadrunner nosed up to the docking port. A series of robotic arms had emerged from the city's hull and gripped his small ship, clutching it securely.

"Have you enjoyed our return?"

Virii nearly soiled himself at the unexpected voice.

"AHHHHHHH!" Panicking, he looked around for several seconds before realization kicked in.

"Strobnick?" he demanded, "Blimey, what are you trying to do, kill me?"

"What?" Strobnick's voice sounded confused, "Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't realize," With a brief shimmer, the alien appeared in a chair next to Virgii.

"Didn't realize...you were invisible!"

"A reflex action, truley," Strobnick held up his chin, "Kicks in when I'm...upset. Quite useful during my undergraduate exams, downright confusing when I disappeared halfway through my master's thesis presentation. Half the audience thought that I was demonstrating a personal cloak. The Romulans wanted me killed immediately,"

"But how would they find you?" Virgii wondered.

Strobnick said nothing.

"So, did you get in touch with your colleagues at the propulsion research lab?"

"I did," Strobnick said curtly.

"And?"

"And they refuse to believe that a malfunction in their precious experimental drive could be caused by something as trivial as a data conversion error," he said, "Especially now, given that a second prototype has disappeared into deep space," he started flickering out again, "The project will likely be terminated, unless the Hummingbird can be found, quickly,"

"First thing in the morning we'll hijack a science lab and start scanning that...that quantum weak-spot they accidentally created here," Virgii said, "We'll have everything figured out in no time,"

"Including why the Roadrunner is leaving without us," Strobnick said, staring out the window.

"Of course, that too," Virgii waved a hand, unconcerned. He paused, frowned, then turned to the window. "I beg your pardon?"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Laarthi and Boxer had returned to the Roadrunner, but Boxer was in his bunk less than five minutes before he got up, pulled on a robe and padded up to the bridge. He was about to sit in the center seat when a whiff of Virgii's scent sent him over to the pilot seat. He couldn't see anything but grey hull outside the front window. The side windows just showed the inner surface of the Outer Rim stretching off in both directions.

Why was he here? For that matter, why was he even on this ship? He and Laarthi had had to stop by the nearby guest quarters to retrieve their luggage, which the extremely bored baggage bots had delivered within a minute of the Road Runner's arrival. The quarters were nice. Not as spacious as the apartment they'd chased the saboteur through, but far larger and more comfortable than the small cabins on the ship. So why was he stuck back on the ship while everybody else enjoyed a good night sleep?

"Don't move," a cold female voice said directly behind him, "I have a 9 millimetre pistol pointed at the back of your furry little head, and I'm not afraid to use it,"

"A what?" Boxer wondered. Oh yeah, he was on the ship because there was a saboteur on the loose. Well, good news! He found her! Ohhh, this was good! He was a good dog!

"A chemically-propelled projectile weapon that will splatter your brains over the front window without setting off the weapons sensors," the voice said pleasantly, "And since I hate washing brains off of surfaces, I do suggest you cooperate with me,"

Uh-oh. Brain splatters were messy. Messy wasn't good. Messy was bad. If his brains had to be cleaned up, he'd be called a very bad boy.

Oh yeah, he'd be dead too.

"Now," the voice said, "the first thing we're going to do is flood this ship with anesthazine. Can't have your feline friend coming up here, can we?"

Biting his lip, but remembering the splattered brain threat, Boxer sealed off the cockpit and activated the intruder defence systems.

"Good boy," the voice purred. Boxer's tail wagged twice before he could stop himself...just on reflex. The voice hardened. "Now release the docking clamps and set course to 197 mark 2,"

Boxer tapped at the controls, only to have the helm reply with an unpleasant BLATT!

"I can't," he said, "The station controls that,"

"I see," the voice sighed, "I expected this."

She placed a device on the helm. It beeped and chirped for a moment. Boxer looked at the thing out of the corner of his eye. It almost looked like Federation technology. Something to break into the computers of an alien station? Unfortunately, the device didn't seem to be working on the Matrian computer. With a similar BLATT, it gave up.

"Fiddlesticks," the woman grunted, "I didn't really expect this, but I did anticipate it! Open a channel to the command center!"

With a whimper, Boxer obeyed.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"This is...YAAWWWWNNNN...Haven Command Complex, how may I direct your comm?" Major Jakerd said. He'd drawn the night shift this week, but wasn't exactly unhappy about it. Oh yes, he disliked staying up late. Or all night, for that matter. But if that meant that other officers could have pleasant dreams, than it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. As long as they let him put his feet up on an extra chair...which for that matter Abela would never allow if she were present. Luckily she'd gone to bed.

"You can direct my call to shut the hell up," a female voice said pleasantly, "Let me be clear. I have planted a bomb on one of your antimatter reactors. Release the docking clamps on the USS Roadrunner immediately or I'll blow us all to hell,"

Jakerd blinked.

"I'm sorry ma'am," he said, "I think you have the wrong number. This is the Haven Command Center, also known as Starbase 341. We're hoping to get the Waystation-2 designation too, but the review board is lost in deep space at the moment. May I direct your call to the people you really mean to threaten?"

There was silence on the line for a moment.

"Can I speak to somebody who's in charge?" the voice demanded.

"That's me," Jakerd said proudly.

"I see." another pause, "Do you know where the Uqam tram station is?"

"Yes ma'am, I can see it right out the window," Jakerd said, looking out at the dark city.

"Can you see it right now?"

"Yup,"

"Not for long,"

There was a flash of light. It was fairly small, considering the size of the tram station and its distance from the command center. But the rising fireball, the growing cloud of smoke and the rumble as the city base transmitted the shock of the explosion up to the command center were still unmistakable.

"Now, release the docking clamps, or your whole city is going up in a fireball," the voice snapped.

Without asking, the tech manning the docking control panel complied. Jakerd was staring out the window, tears forming in his eyes.

"Colonel Abela is going to be SOOOO pissed!" he groaned.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

At the Roadrunner's docking port, Lieutenant Mytim was shifting her weight from one foot to another. To an outside observer, it would have looked like a slow-motion version of the 'I Gotta Pee Polka'. In this case, it was more a matter of indecision than urinary or bladder issues.

Mytim had been on the verge of falling asleep in her guest quarters on Level 12 of the Outer Rim. She'd been moderately pleased with the plush furnishings of the small apartment, including a reading chair that had her clapping her hands with delight. She'd stretched out on the queen sized bed, enjoying the feeling of the soft mattress after so many nights on her unyielding bunk aboard the ship and was sinking into blissful oblivion when there was a sudden bolt of alarm. She'd sat up and started listening carefully, but deep down she knew she hadn't heard anything. No, this was her other sense speaking...the one she tried not to think about too much. She'd been working hard to keep her unexplainable talents under control, especially after she'd nearly incinerated a planet with them. Still, she could feel that something was wrong, and this reaction had led to her standing in the station-side airlock leading to the Roadrunner. But for some reason, she couldn't bring herself to actually board the ship.

Finally, she closed her eyes and reached out with her extra sense. She'd find what the problem was, resolve it and get back to sleep. She could feel Virgii and Strobnick nearby, nothing unusual there. Boxer and Laarthi were aboard the ship, again nothing unusual. Some random person, probably part of the crew, wandering the corridors of the tiny ship. Otherwise, this entire section of the city was empty. Heck, their entire quadrant of the city was deserted! What kind of starbase was this supposed to be, anyway?

There was a sudden pulse of emotion from Boxer, a surge of panic and fear. Without meaning to, Mytim stepped into the Roadrunner, just in time for the hatch to close and clouds of anesthazine knock-out gas to descend. With a thud, she fell to the floor.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"Who's taking my ship!" Virgii demanded, face plastered across the viewport, "Nobody signed for it! I'll still be held responsible! Do you know how expensive a ship is?"

Strobnick squinted.

"I can't tell who it is, but I see two people on the bridge. One is holding a weapon."

"Hijacking! Quick, where's the nearest docking bay?"

Strobnick shrugged.

Virgii called Ops and repeated his demand.

"Twenty levels up, the other edge of the rim and about two hundred meters clockwise," a blubbery voice replied, "Why?"

Virgii was already running, dragging Strobnick behind him.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"What the hell is going on and why haven't you handled it?" Colonel Abela demanded, climbing the steps to the command deck.

"They threatened to blow us up!" Major Jakerd cried, "And then they blew part of us up?"

"And they stole the Starfleet ship," a tech added.

"Exterior view!" Abela snapped. The windows and screens switched to a 360 view of space. Abela spun for moment, then spotted the Roadrunner speeding away from them.

"Tractor beam!" she ordered.

"Uh, they planted a bomb on one of our reactors," the tech pointed out.

Abela blinked.

"I see," she said, very calmly, "Cancel tractor beam. Let them go. Get Wyer in the reactor rooms. He's good with bombs,"

Simplot and Shurgroe had just emerged from the turbolift.

"The Roadrunner has gone to warp," the tech reported. Simplot stopped in her tracks as she saw the flash of the Roadrunner's nacelles as the ship vanished.

"Captain Virgin get sick of us already?" she asked.

"Hijacking," Abela said simply.

Simplot held up a finger.

"Oh no they didn't!" she snapped, "Josh! Beam us to the runabout! Abela, get us cleared for launch!"

As the two Starfleeters were beamed to the runabout, Abela turned to a beeping panel. Somebody in Docking Bay 6 wanted departure clearance? What the heck?"

"This is Captain Virgii of the USS Road...well, at the moment I seem to be borrowing the Matrian vessel...um...Strobnick, is there a dedication plaque or something in here? No? I see. This is Captain Virgii borrowing the Matrian vessel...um...Coyote. Yes, that's as good a name as any. Strobnick, log that please. Thank you. Ahem, this is the Matrian vessel Coyote, requesting permission to go chase my ship! My other ship, that is."

Abela was about to give him a piece of her mind when an interesting fact hit her: Simplot and Shurgroe were leaving. Yup, she could see the tiny runabout vanish into warp as it chased after the larger (but still small) Roadrunner. Now this other Starfleeter wanted to take off in a two hundred year old Matrian scout that had been sitting in a docking bay most of its life.

By letting this one ship go, she'd have the city almost entirely to herself and her people.

"Permission to depart granted," she said, accessing the remote door controls and opening the docking bay doors, "Best of luck,"

As the second ship sped away from the city and jumped into warp, Abela sat back into her chair and smiled.

Her victory was short-lived.

"Colonel Abela, where is everybody?" It was Lieutenant Wyer, fully dressed. Either he was a quick changer, or he hadn't gone to bed yet.

"Shouldn't you be defusing a bomb?" she asked pointedly, ignoring the question.

"Bomb?" he asked.

"Jakerd, I TOLD you to..." Abela looked around, only to find Jakerd sitting at a computer typing out a long, rambling email to Wyer's messaging address, "Oy vay. Tomorrow, we are going to have a very long talk about the importance of brevity in communications." She turned to Wyer, "There is a bomb planted on one of our reactors. We don't know which one. Go find it and disarm it,"

"By Mi Clane," Wyer paled, "Right. On it,"

He turned and ran down the stairs.

Abela paused, then hung over the railing and called after him.

"Wait," she said, "If you didn't know about the bomb, what were doing up here at this ungodly hour?"

"Oh," Wyer skidded to a halt, "We need to find the Roadrunner people and get them back on their ship!"

"Why?"

"Because I've been in the DoDO tower all night, analyzing sensor readings," Wyer said, "And whatever quantum weirdness it was that linked them to the Hummingbird is still there, and it's decaying!"

Abela thought about this for a moment.

"And?"

"And," Wyer said, "I'm fairly sure that if either ship activates its slipstream drive before the link decays, they'll swap places again!"

"So the review team would be back here, and Virgii and his people would be back in the middle of nowhere?"

"Exactly!"

"Oh good," Abela gave a sigh of relief, "This whole incident is hurting our odds of getting the Waystation-2 designation as it is,"

"You don't get it!" Wyer said, losing some of his normal cool, "If they swap back without actually being aboard the Roadrunner, they'll pop out into empty space and die horribly!"

Abela put her hands on her hips.

"You Starfleet people!" she said, disgusted, "You just can't do anything the easy way, can you?"

Wyer stared back at her.

"Fine, go take care of the bomb and make sure we're not going to die in a fiery explosion, then we'll see about saving your Starfleet friends," Abela made shoo-ing motions with one hand. Wyer bolted for the turbolift.

Abela dropped back into her chair. She looked at the chair next to her, then frowned.

"And who the hell had their boots up on the furniture!?" she demanded.

So much for peace and quiet.


End file.
